


Life in Technicolor

by hammersandstrings



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammersandstrings/pseuds/hammersandstrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is fresh off a Tony win when he faces his toughest role yet: PR boyfriend to Academy Award nominee and resident pain in the ass, Sebastian Smythe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [now translated into italian](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10695673/1/Life-in-Technicolor) by [AthenaKb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaKb/pseuds/AthenaKb)!
> 
> because i was never one to resist a celebrity auand awards season gave me an excuse to write one.
> 
> title comes from [life in technicolor](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zvc8T47_V0) by coldplay.

“No.”

“Kurt…”

“No. In Spanish, _no_. In French, _non_. In German, _nein_. Need I translate further? This isn’t happening.”

There’s a firm, decisive click of the heel of one pump on the tile in the hallway and it makes Kurt turn around to face the woman behind him. Tina’s crossed her arms, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, and there’s a dangerous _don’t fuck with me_ scowl on her face.

“It’s happening, Kurt, so suck it the hell up.”

Kurt can’t even help but laugh at that, and Tina’s expression softens as well, just enough so that her stony glare isn’t so cutting.

“Ugh, but you guys couldn’t find me a less awful Oscar date? Like… Blaine Anderson? I’d much rather show up with him than—than—”

Tina sighs, sliding one arm through Kurt’s and beginning to walk down the office hallway again, practically dragging him with the swift pace she’s keeping. “Blaine’s out, but he’s not _out_ -out to the media. Being seen with one of New York’s most eligible bachelors is like _asking_ for the attention he’s been avoiding. Plus, he’s not going to the Oscars—Grammys yes, Oscars no. _Sebastian_ , on the other hand—” Kurt gags at the name and Tina pinches his side “—also one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, very much out to the media, nominated for an Oscar as of this morning, and needs a short-term paparazzi romance.”

Kurt stops again at that, blinking down at the girl on his arm with his jaw dropped. “Oh, no, no, no, no, hold on. You did _not_ say romance before, you just said Oscar date. I am _not_ going to fake-romance the biggest asshole in the film biz for buzz.”

Tina doesn’t even let Kurt stop all the way before she’s dragging him back down the hall by the arm she’s got captured.

“Tell that to your publicist, hon,” she says as they reach the door at the end of the hallway. Behind it, Isabelle Wright is sitting behind her desk, glancing down at her laptop screen with a focused expression on her face. When Kurt and Tina step in, she brightens and sits up straighter in her chair.

“Kurt! Was just finishing rereading the latest email from Sebastian’s publicist. I take it Tina’s briefed you on what’s going on?”

“I tried, but he spent half the cab ride with his fingers in his ears chanting _la la la not listening la la la_ ,” Tina replies, nudging Kurt into the chair across from Isabelle’s desk.

Kurt glares up at her when he sits down, then he huffs and looks at Isabelle. “I know you guys want me to fake-date Sebastian Smythe, I just don’t know _why_ you’re submitting me to this torture.”

Isabelle only laughs, folding her hands together on top of her desk primly. “It’s simple, really. Emma, his publicist, is one of the best in the business, but there’s only so much she can do. Sebastian’s… Well, he can be somewhat of a wild child with his hookups, so before any rumors or stories can get out to the press, she wants to nip it in the bud. And what better way to do that than by letting the press think he’s dating Broadway’s golden boy?”

When Kurt doesn’t respond, just stares at her dumbstruck, she continues. “It’ll have to start soon, the Oscars are in less than two months, but the idea is to have the two of you papped a few times hanging out, get Twitter sightings going, generate some buzz. You won’t be his Golden Globes date—those are a few days away and he’s bringing his best friend because the media loves them some Sebtana—and the other award shows aren’t a big deal date-wise, so you won’t be there, but when you show up in L.A. the day before the Oscars, rumors are gonna fly, and _bam_. Press goes wild when you show up holding hands, you gush about each other in red carpet interviews, cuddle a little for the cameras, share a kiss if he beats out Firth and Miller for best actor, and that’s it. After that, you can have a clean, ‘we’re still friends’ sort of breakup and never see each other again if that’s what you want.”

“Ezra Miller! That’s who you could’ve gotten me a date with!” Kurt tries, but Tina brandishes a pen and threatens to scribble all over his brand new blazer with it, so he backs down. “Right. You two know best, whatever. Do I at least get to wear McQueen to the show?”

Isabelle grins at that. “There’s my Kurt!”

  


* * *

  


It’s the worst idea anyone’s ever had, Kurt’s sure of that the minute he shows up to Emma Pillsbury’s office to work out the last details of the arrangement before his first scheduled “outing” with Sebastian. Why anyone would think that hopeless romantic Kurt Hummel and Sebastian “King of the Ten Minute Relationship” Smythe would be an acceptable pairing is beyond him. They’d met a few times, when Sebastian was still on Broadway, the Moritz to Jesse St. James’ Melchior in Spring Awakening, and to say they didn’t get along would be a sizable understatement. Sebastian was brash and blunt in all the ways Kurt couldn’t stand, a cocky son of a bitch with a nasty way of figuring out _just_ what made people insecure so he could use it against them.

So when he opens Emma’s door to find Sebastian lounged in one of the seats across from her desk, greeting him with a _“hey Snow White,”_ he’s about ready to maul his face off because he’s gotten enough from directors about how he’s got _too high a voice, like a girl, like a little princess_ , and he sure as hell doesn’t need it from this asshole.

He refrains, though, fixing Sebastian with a hard look and a brusque hello while he settles into his own seat and smiles politely at Emma.

“See! You two can be just darling when you want to. This _can_ work out, Sebastian!” she says in that sweet voice of hers, then extends a pair of papers to them. “Just called you boys in here to sign the contract and you’re on your way. Nothing fancy, nothing legally binding, just so we can get it down on paper that you know when you guys are meeting up, where the paparazzi are being called to, things like that.”

Both Kurt and Sebastian glance over their papers momentarily, already having been briefed several times on what exactly is to happen on their “dates” whenever any press people are around. They sign and hand the papers to Emma at the exact same time, glaring at one another.

“Oh, boys!” Emma chides. “You’re an Oscar nominee and a Tony winner, I’d think you were better actors than that. Now go on, you’re due at Cookshop in half an hour. Remember—no PDA yet, just show up a few minutes apart, keep close, and look interested.”

She shoos them out of the office before either can complain, and when they’re walking back to the elevator, Kurt turns his full glare to Sebastian.

“You’re the one whose reputation is in danger and _I’m_ being punished for it,” he spits, quiet enough that the interns bustling about the office can’t hear.

“As if I’m not being punished too,” Sebastian fires back, his gravelly voice sharp and low in his throat. “Of all the gay men in showbiz! I ask for Zachary Quinto, they give me Kurt Hummel, bitch queen extraordinaire.”

“You are un-fucking-believable,” Kurt growls, impatiently jabbing the elevator button. He steps in when the door opens, holding the open button so Sebastian can join him, but he stays outside, leaning against the wall. When Kurt clears his throat impatiently, he bristles.

“We’re supposed to show up separate. It’s gonna be too obvious if we leave my publicist’s office together before our publicized first date. Think for one damn second, Princess,” Sebastian snaps, and Kurt doesn’t even dignify it with a response before he’s shutting the elevator door.

The fucking nerve of this guy, as if _he’s_ the one being inconvenienced here when Kurt’s the one being dragged into this arrangement without any real perks, just to cover Sebastian’s ass. Kurt had been fine being single, nursing a miniature crush on singer-songwriter-dreamboat Blaine Anderson since they met at his concert in Madison Square Garden over the summer, occasionally dating around with guys his costars introduced him to. The great thing about being on Broadway instead of in movies was that the gossip pool was much smaller and nobody outside of NYC really cared, and he loved it, but now he’s on his way to be photographed on a date with America’s latest boyfriend.

The cab ride is luckily long enough for Kurt to simmer down just a bit, though he’s still on edge when he catches a paparazzo hanging around the corner, just waiting for Sebastian to show up so he can get his shot. He manages to ignore the guy, since he’s not bothering anyone quite yet, and he slips inside the restaurant, claiming the reservations Emma had made earlier. The hostess keeps staring at him like she sort-of recognizes him, but he only smiles and doesn’t confirm anything as he orders two waters and taps away on his phone until Sebastian enters.

The sound of flashbulbs after the opening of the door a few minutes later lets Kurt know he’s arrived, though the Sebastian walking into the restaurant is almost a completely different person than the one from Emma’s office. His posture is straighter, eyes wide, and he grins politely at the hostess, who most definitely recognizes him, guiding him to Kurt’s table with a look that can only be described as star struck painted across her face. Even when he looks over at Kurt, Sebastian still smiles brightly, though that probably has everything to do with the fact that their table is near the window and there are photographers lurking outside still, waiting for a shot of them together.

“Hey Princess,” Sebastian says as he picks up his menu, flashing a smile that looks genuine enough, but Kurt can see the condescension behind it, maybe because he’s actively looking for it.

“Hey you,” Kurt responds in the flirty voice he generally reserves for dates, but when he’s sure nobody’s listening, he drops his voice down low and grits through his teeth, _“Quit it with the ‘princess’ shit, asshole.”_

“Oh, this is gonna be _fun_ ,” Sebastian mumbles, grinning, before he blinks innocently at his menu. “So I hear the shrimp salad here is amazing.”

Kurt hums noncommittally, but Sebastian, ever the actor and maybe a little too entranced in his role of the gentlemanly lunch date, reaches over the table and touches his hand.

“You’re so quiet, babe.”

It’s such a Kodak moment that one of the photographers outside has probably popped a boner over the money they’re gonna make off it. Kurt is sure he’s going to get a thousand calls from his friends later today when the pictures end up online.

But if Sebastian can play this game, so can Kurt—he didn’t win that Tony last year for nothing. So he lets his thumb brush Sebastian’s fingers and slaps on his best puppy dog eyes, feeding him some bullshit answer about being distracted. It goes on like a game all through lunch until they’re about finished with their meals and both of their phones vibrate with texts at the same time and they move to answer them. Kurt glances down at his own phone and sighs.

_**From: Isabelle Wright**  
Great job so far! Couple of Twitter sightings and Just Jared, E!, and Perez all are interested in buying the pics. :) Get a cab together when you’re finished and you’re done for the day. xx_

Sebastian seems to have gotten a similar text, because he sighs as well.

“Jesus, this feels like public prostitution, doesn’t it?”

Kurt involuntarily snorts at that, almost choking on some tea and narrowly avoiding spitting it in what’s left of his fries. “I don’t think it’s that dramatic,” he laughs when he finally recovers.

“Eh, maybe not, but it’s still shitty.” Sebastian steals a fry and rummages in his wallet, dropping enough money on the table to cover the food. “You ready to blow this place or what? Emma called me in early today to meet with her and I _still_ have about a thousand tux fittings before I can go home.”

“Fine with me. You sound like me before the Tonys last year,” Kurt replies, noticing the way communication is much easier now that they’ve dropped the fake-mushy act. When they’re speaking like this, Kurt can almost pretend he tolerates Sebastian.

The hostess manages a stuttering goodbye as they leave, and then the paparazzi are in full force again, flashing their cameras obnoxiously while Sebastian hails a cab. Kurt stays at his side, giving a perfect bitch glare that betrays the fact that the photogs have been called here for their benefit and ignoring the questions they’re hounding him with the way Isabelle told him to.

There’s one, though—the guy who had been there when Kurt entered the restaurant—who won’t give it up, stepping way too far into Kurt’s personal bubble than he’s comfortable with, and it’s Sebastian who steps forward, glaring harshly until the man steps back and the taxi cab has pulled up to the curb. Kurt shuffles in first, followed by Sebastian, who’s shaking his head.

“You give them what they want and they still ask for more,” he growls as Kurt rattles off the address to his building. “I stayed in New York instead of moving to L.A. to avoid this kind of shit, and they still—”

Kurt quiets him with a raised eyebrow that says _our people called them, remember?_ , but Sebastian nods toward the driver, who seems invested in listening to their conversation. Kurt groans internally, having thought the act was up once they got into the cab.

“It’s fine, honey.” He places his hand on Sebastian’s leg, feeling the other man tense uncomfortably before he pulls it back and the car is plunged into an awkward silence that stretches on until they reach Kurt’s building. He doesn’t exactly know how they’re supposed to part, so he mutters a small _“bye, see you later”_ before darting inside, through the lobby, and into the elevator until he hits the top floor.

He’s ready to sit down for an afternoon of lazing around the house, but the second he opens his door, Kurt is greeted by a familiar voice.

“Why were you on a date with Sebastian Smythe?” Rachel Berry commands, standing up from her seat at the counter and stomping his way in her thick-heeled boots.

“Why are you in my apartment?” Kurt counters, mildly horrified, but Rachel ignores him.

“We constantly gossip about what a douche he is, and now I see _this!_ ”

Rachel brandishes her iPhone and shoves it into his face, its web browser already open to the offending gossip article. There’s not much of a caption, just a few sentences of context and a reminder that there are more photos in the gallery.

_Just Jared: Fri, 18 January 2019_  
 _ **Sebastian Smythe & Kurt Hummel: Lunch Date! **_  
_**Sebastian Smythe** and **Kurt Hummel** , both 24, grab lunch in Chelsea, NYC earlier today (January 18), sparking rumors that the two are dating. The actors arrived separately, but got increasingly closer over the meal and left together afterwards._

“Oh, and that’s not it!” Rachel continues on. “Perez Hilton appropriately drew dicks all over Sebastian and hearts around your head, E! News is going to do a speculation piece later tonight, and JBI’s got even more photos of you two looking cuddly and disgusting—well, he looks disgusting, I really like your coat.”

Slowly, Kurt reaches out and puts both hands on Rachel’s shoulders, watching her with a raised eyebrow. “Calm yourself. I thought getting engaged would mellow you out. Does Jesse have you on uppers? Is he sneaking them into your food?”

Rachel, in all her five-foot-three glory, shoves at Kurt, glaring. “Answers, Hummel.”

He doesn’t respond, though, his eyes drawn back to the phone in his hand—more specifically, the photos attached to the Just Jared article: Kurt entering the restaurant, Sebastian getting out of his cab, a couple of him walking back with the starstruck hostess. These don’t get much of a reaction out of Kurt, but then his gaze falls upon the last photos: a bunch showing his and Sebastian’s hands clasped across the table while they spit sarcastic niceties at each other, and just a few of Sebastian giving the overzealous paparazzo a death glare passed off as protectiveness. If anything, Kurt thinks, Emma was right about the guy being a damn good actor because the photos make it look like there’s genuine affection between the men, not at all a forced and rocky acquaintanceship over an agreement they had no say in.

So it’s no surprise that when he turns to look at Rachel’s glaring face to say, “It's not real,” she looks stunned, like he’s just told her that she’s been inceptioned or that she’s not the most talented woman in the world.

“He’s not a fan of keeping it in his pants and his team doesn’t want word to get out, so his publicist and mine have chosen me to be his _oh so lucky_ PR boyfriend. Because I’m squeaky clean or something.”

It’s murderously quiet for a moment while Rachel blinks her big doe eyes, processing what she’s been told, but Kurt finds himself wishing for the silence once more when she actually does push him over, tackling him so they both fall over the back of his couch in a pile of tangled limbs.

He’s assaulted both physically—Rachel’s not only tackled him, but has also resorted to intermittently smacking him across the face with the too-long sleeve of her sweater—and verbally—a litany of _oh my god_ and _I hate you_ and _I don’t actually hate you, but oh my god!_ —before she finally calms down and rolls her tiny self off of him, smoothing down her sleek brown hair and daintily crossing her legs while she sits.

“So,” she tries casually, though her voice is still laced with remnants of her freak out, “your life is a romantic comedy. Why do your agents plan these things for you and not me? I could totally handle the pressures of a PR romance.”

“Because you’re already engaged to Jesse St. I-get-a-Tony-nom-every-year,” Kurt answers, blinking over at her as if she doesn’t already know this. “And my life is definitely not a romantic comedy. If it was, I’d be laughing.”

“No, no, see, that’s exactly it! The stunning ingénue—who should be me, but we’ll go with you in this case—starts out unhappy, but always ends up falling for the annoying yet persistent love interest in the end. Haven’t you seen 10 Things I Hate About You? 27 Dresses? They bang in a car in 27 Dresses, though, please be a little more sanitary than that.”

Rachel’s got to be out of her mind if she thinks that’s what’s going to happen, and Kurt schools his expression into one that says precisely that.

“You won’t have to worry about that because I am _not_ banging him, and especially not in a car.”

Rachel hums to herself at that. “Well, yes, I suppose you can fall for each other without having sexual relations, but I still reserve the right to an ‘I told you so!’ when you do. Does this mean he’s your date to the wedding? I’m sure I could fit him in at our table as long as we’re not within three chairs of each other.”

 _Ugh_. Kurt hadn’t even thought about what this situation meant for Rachel and Jesse’s wedding, but now that it’s on his mind, he realizes he’s screwed. The wedding is set for the day after Valentine’s Day, the week before the Oscars, and knowing Rachel and Jesse’s flair for the dramatic, there will be some sort of press coverage. Judging by the timeline Emma gave him earlier, he and Sebastian will pretty much be a confirmed couple to the press by then (their first photographed kiss is set for the first of February, and they’re supposed to spend Valentine’s Day together), and it would probably look suspicious if his “boyfriend” didn’t show up to his best friends’ wedding.

So yep, he’s gonna be stuck spending even more time with Sebastian.

When he nods and mentions that he’ll run it by Isabelle and Emma, Rachel appears to be barely holding back an amused and completely evil cackle before she reaches over to the coffee table to grab the remote and pop on an episode of My Fair Wedding for background noise.

“Anyway, I’m still torn on the last name issue. Rachel St. James makes me sound like a lawyer, and Jesse Berry is much too cutesy. We debated hyphenating it, but Rachel Berry-St. James is too long for a theater marquee. At this point, I’m either keeping Berry, or there’s always the ever-popular St. Berry…”

Kurt stays mostly quiet during the show, letting Rachel talk and talk until her own wedding planner calls her about a wine tasting and she hightails it to meet Jesse after his rehearsals so they can go together. It’s only then when Kurt finally gets a minute to himself to flop backwards onto the sofa cushions and stare at the ceiling, wondering how the hell this became his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably mention that the twitter handles in this are not actually affiliated with this story at all. and the instagram link is a dud!

Kurt intends on spending the weekend sleeping and pretending that this isn’t happening, but of course, a text wakes him on Saturday morning that confirms he won’t be doing that whatsoever.

_**From: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
check ur email, isabelle just sent u a screener for sebastian’s movie_

On cue, the phone beeps with the notification, a blank email signed with nothing but Isabelle Wright’s signature _xx_ , and an attached file titled _kill the messenger dvd screener.mp4_. Kurt blinks a few times, confused, before sending a text back.

_**To: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
Okay… is there any reason why?_

_**From: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
she wants u to watch it today. if u 2 are going to be convincing then u’ll have to know about each other’s work if ur asked_

_**From: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
also she wants u to watch the golden globes coverage tomorrow_

_**From: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
…emma sent him a bootleg of ur last city limits performance if it makes u feel any better_

_**To: Tina Cohen-Chang**  
Got it, Tina. Thanks for the info. _

Kurt’s mind reasons that they _could_ pass off as one of those couples that doesn’t watch each other’s work in order to separate business life from personal life, but there’s no point in arguing with Tina or Isabelle because they’ll kick his ass with their vicious, vicious words.

It’s just a two-hour movie and a few hours of awards coverage, so it’s not like watching it all will take up his entire weekend, but there’s no way in hell he’s holing himself up watching it all alone, so he quickly texts Rachel and Jesse to come over to mock it with him.

“You know, I actually heard the movie’s quite good,” Rachel reasons as she steps into the apartment half an hour later, handing her coat to Jesse to hang on the rack near the door. “It’s the favorite for Best Picture _and_ Quinn Fabray got the Best Supporting Actress nom.”

“Roughly translated to, _if I could have sex with one person that isn’t Jesse, it would be Quinn Fabray_ ,” Jesse notes as he flops onto the sofa, Rachel smacking his arm before curling into his side and leaving Kurt to bring all the drinks and snacks into the room.

“It is a good movie, though,” Jesse continues. “I saw it with the cast last week and most of them cried.”

“Roughly translated to, _I cried like a baby, came home, and ruined Rachel’s Angry Birds game by breaking her concentration and repeating that I’d never let that happen_ ,” Rachel mocks him before kissing his nose, and Kurt can only take so much sickening cuteness at a time, so he leans over and clicks the play button on his laptop so the movie starts up.

And it _is_ good. It takes a second for Kurt to get into the film, but it soon becomes easy to forget that he’s watching the asshole Sebastian when he’s transformed into Jude Carmichael, the son of Hollywood legends May and Ellis Carmichael, who’s struggling to complete rehab for his drug addiction. There’s one scene, right at the climax of the movie, where Jude’s girlfriend, Alice (“Quinn!” Rachel had announced when she first popped up onscreen, and Kurt and Jesse shared a look of amusement), comes to visit him and finds him in bed, mid-withdrawal, and holy _hell_ , if Kurt wasn’t trying his damnedest to hold back sobs, he’d be crying the way Rachel is. Jude—Sebastian— _Jude_ is full-on bawling, body-wracking, heart-wrenching, agonized sobs that can’t be muffled by the dress of Alice’s that he’s crying into.

And the worst part is that the movie doesn’t get much happier. Jude’s parents disown him, he loses his will to get clean and, subsequently, Alice, and then he dies, twenty-two and miserable and alone.

Kurt wants to open his mouth and say he hates it, it’s the worst movie he’s ever seen, and whoever gave Sebastian that Oscar nomination is a hack who should be fired, but he can’t. Before, Sebastian was just the asshole who was inconveniencing him, and now...

Well, he’s still an asshole and he’s still inconveniencing him, but he’s a goddamned _talented_ asshole who deserves every acting award thrown his way. There’s still no affection between them, but there’s at least some semblance of respect now.

“I wasn’t supposed to like that,” Kurt murmurs as the credits come to a close, and it startles a laugh out of Rachel, who’s still crying openly into Jesse’s shirt.

“You owe me dinner for that,” she laughs despite herself. “I came here to mock him and I ended up _crying_ over him.”

Kurt just shrugs at it. “I have to watch the Golden Globes tomorrow anyway, you guys can stay the night as long as any sex you have in the guest room is pin-drop quiet and you don’t ruin my good sheets.”

The Globes the next day are mostly uneventful. Kurt’s thrilled with watching the preshow to see all the dresses—Quinn Fabray is clearly the night’s best dressed in an orchid-colored Marchesa gown with silver details that makes her skin glow, blonde hair pulled into a low, wavy ponytail with the bangs French braided into a headband—even though Jesse is clearly bored and every new look makes Rachel rethink her bridesmaids dresses.

Sebastian and Santana are the last to show up for red carpet footage, though the crimson Dior number Santana is rocking makes up for any tardiness because she’s _stunning_ , hair curled like an old time movie star, upstaging Sebastian’s simple black tux in a way that only Santana Lopez can get away with.

The awards themselves are mostly boring. Why anyone thought Will Schuester would be a good host is beyond the three gathered around the TV, but he stumbles his way through his segments and is only redeemed when the camera operator pans to a clearly confused Amy Poehler in the audience.

Kill the Messenger wins Best Picture and, now unsurprisingly, Sebastian nabs the Best Actor award, and by the time it’s over, Rachel and Jesse have fallen asleep on the couch again.

There’s a text from Isabelle on his phone when Kurt finally leaves them to sleep and retires for the night, and he groans inwardly thinking of what she could possibly be saying.

_**From: Isabelle Wright**  
Hope you’re ready for your boy’s sudden surge in popularity! You’ll do great. xx_

  


* * *

  


The second date falls three days later, on a Wednesday morning that’s probably too moody and blustery for a Central Park date, but the show must go on.

Kurt wakes up to a phone call from Isabelle restating the basics of today’s outing for the zillionth time: the public is tentatively interested in the relationship and today’s photos can make or break their opinion. Minor PDA is encouraged, soft touches and hand-holding, but nothing too obvious—overkill can and will ruin everything.

There’s a wicked thought in the back of his mind to purposely overdo it so this whole thing can be over, but as much as Sebastian irritates him, Kurt’s not _that_ much of an asshole.

He hangs up after Isabelle tells him Sebastian will pick him up in an hour, showering and dressing quickly (well, as quickly as one can put on enough layers to survive an abnormally cold January day in NYC) before there’s a knock at his apartment door. Sebastian’s actually a few minutes early, which is mildly impressive, even if he’s got a cocky, shit-eating grin on his face when the door opens to reveal him leaning against the frame in jeans and a peacoat, with brown leather gloves on his hands and thick-rimmed glasses in front of his eyes.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. “How’d you even get up here?”

Clearly this is what’s put that stupid smile on his face, because Sebastian looks even more self-satisfied at the question. “Apparently your doorman and his wife are big fans. I barely had to step up and say half of your name before he was waving me inside and congratulating me on the Golden Globe.”

“You are a vile, narcissistic toad,” Kurt grouses as he slips his phone into his coat pocket and wraps a scarf around his neck. He’s glaring his steeliest, most unamused glare, but Sebastian isn’t even fazed, keeping up with the annoying smiling while Kurt closes and locks the door.

“Aw, baby, I was gonna buy you breakfast and everything,” Sebastian teases while they climb into the elevator, but Kurt doesn’t even respond to the jibe, glaring heavily at him as soon as the doors close.

“Look, you and I are supposed to be quote-unquote ‘cute and cuddly’ today, so if you’re going to be a sarcastic jerk about it all day, I swear I will run your damn reputation into the ground faster than you can say ‘bye-bye, Oscar.’” Kurt realizes he’s probably being a little harsh, but he’s been on edge ever since Rachel’s comment about the wedding date _and_ finally watching the movie, and the only person he feels like taking it out on, whether he deserves it or not, is right in front of him.

Sebastian takes it well enough, though, leaning up against the wall and huffing out a short breath. “I hate to admit that you’re right,” he mumbles to himself. “But seriously, breakfast. It’s ten in the morning and I haven’t seen food since dinner last night. My stomach isn’t even growling anymore, it’s yodeling.”

The elevator doors ding open then, and when there are immediately eyes on them, Sebastian carefully stretches his arm around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him in so Kurt can wrap one of his around Sebastian’s waist. Sebastian tries to hail a cab once they’ve left the building, but Kurt uses all the strength in his arm to yank him away from the curb and into a small café next door to the apartment.

The café is warm inside, and empty, a nice contrast from the bitingly cold, crowded street, and the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts through the air invitingly. When the bell over the door dings, the girl behind the counter brightens up, flashing a smile.

“Hey Kurt!” she says cheerfully, dusting off her apron and sidling up to the cash register when the boys approach. “Hey Kurt’s pretty-smiled friend.”

“Brittany, Sebastian. Sebastian, Brittany,” Kurt introduces the two. “Brittany choreographs for some of the theaters around here, Sebastian is…”

“Starving,” Sebastian finishes before Kurt can say _my boyfriend_ , which is probably a good call because Kurt doesn’t quite feel like explaining the situation—not _everyone_ in his life needs to know about this whole complicated mess, Rachel and Jesse knowing is already risky enough. “Can I get a cinnamon bagel with blueberry cream cheese and a vanilla latte?”

Kurt blinks in silence, and Brittany must be thinking the same thing as him, because she quirks an eyebrow at Sebastian, smirks, and asks, “Are you ordering for Kurt or yourself?” and when Sebastian stares questioningly at her, adds, “That’s Kurt’s usual.”

Sebastian scrunches his nose at that, nudging Kurt with his hip. “Gross. We’re not allowed to have things in common, I might start liking you as a person.”

It’s in good humor, though, and this time when Kurt calls him a narcissist again, Sebastian winks as a confirmation.

“So are there any other people I should know about? Are you friends with the entire city, or…?” Sebastian asks as he walks to the other side of the counter to wait for their drinks after Brittany hands them their bagels.

It couldn’t hurt, Kurt reasons with himself. If anything, telling Sebastian about his close friends will actually give them things to talk about today.

“Well, there’s Britt.” At Kurt’s mention of her name, the girl lifts her head and winks. “And Mike, the other choreographer, who’s engaged to Tina—”

Sebastian makes a noise of recognition at that, accepting both cups of coffee that Brittany hands him before smiling at her and handing one cup to Kurt. “Tina, your publicist’s terrifying assistant? Can go from adorable and sweet to demonic and murderous in three-point-five seconds?”

Kurt snorts, almost spitting out a mouthful of latte. “That’s the one. She and Mike have been dating on and off since high school and he made me help him plan out an elaborate proposal only for her to ask him first, and that’s basically their relationship in a nutshell. There’s also Finn, who’s my awkward but lovable stepbrother who still lives in Ohio, who used to date Rachel, who you know—”

“From Spring Awakening a couple years back,” Sebastian confirms. “Goddamn, she was annoying.”

It’s horrible and mean, but Kurt barks out an unintentional laugh anyway as he waves goodbye to Brittany and pushes the café door open with his side, bracing himself for the cold that body checks him on the way out.

The sidewalk is filled with people bustling about, heading to work or wherever their destination may be, but that doesn’t stop a fair amount of eyes from falling on the two leaving the coffee shop, people staring and whispering as Kurt decides against finishing his interrupted thought, in case anyone’s actively eavesdropping. It would be pretty suspicious to just _now_ be telling his boyfriend about his best friends. Sebastian must catch it as well, because he switches his latte to the other hand so the arm that’s closer to Kurt is free to wrap around him. Kurt hates that he feels so comfortable curled up against his side, his own arm resting against Sebastian’s lower back, but he reasons with himself that it’s just because Sebastian’s peacoat is soft and really, _any_ form of warmth feels better than the piercing cold outside.

By the time they reach Central Park, the paparazzi are already starting to crowd, and thankfully, it seems that Isabelle and Emma have given them a message to back off, because nobody’s crowding in Kurt’s personal space this time, unless you count the way Sebastian’s ducking his head to whisper in his ear.

_“Follow my lead,”_ he says hastily as he unwinds his arm from its place around Kurt’s back and instead reaches for his palm with one gloved hand. Kurt’s confused by the movement, but he grips Sebastian’s hand anyway, despite the awkward feeling of leather gloves against bare hands, keeping his eyes on Sebastian’s face to try and figure out exactly what kind of lead he’s following.

Sebastian is staring straight at the paparazzi as they start flashing their cameras, asking questions that overlap with each other’s so all that can be heard is a mass of unintelligible shouting, but he seems unfazed. With a light tug at Kurt’s hand that seems to signal _and go!_ , he breaks into a grin before sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. Kurt has no idea what the hell’s going on, but he figures he might as well play along, mirroring Sebastian’s expression with his eyes squinted. Some of the paparazzi seem annoyed, lowering their cameras to give them unamused looks, like _your people called us here and now you’re gonna fuck around?_ , but others seem to love it, snapping photos with more fervor than before until the boys stop with the faces and walk past them, down the long pathway leading through the park.

An involuntary laugh bubbles up in Kurt’s chest and he lets out the smallest snort. “What the hell was _that_?”

Sebastian’s smile is still cocky as ever, like he’s done some great deed, and he glances around to make sure nobody’s listening (it’s a late Wednesday morning and all the holiday stragglers in the city are gone, so no one is) before he speaks. “It’ll make is look more genuine.”

When Kurt gives him a stare that’s blank other than a confused raised brow, he continues.

“The obvious PR couples—the Spencer and Heidi, the Quinn and Sam, whoever’s dating Harry Styles this week—their paparazzi shots always look the most staged. Nobody’s one-hundred percent photogenic all the time, especially when there’s fifteen sweaty guys shoving cameras in your face. The paps get a bad shot, it won’t sell as well, it won’t be as buzzworthy.”

Kurt cocks his eyebrow even further because nothing Sebastian is saying is making sense to him. “Then why’d we just give them all cameras full of bad shots? Aren’t we doing this whole thing so you’ll be _more_ buzzworthy?”

Now it’s Sebastian who laughs, though his is lower, more throaty and jaded. “God, I miss how sheltered the Broadway circuit can be. We look straight at them and give them funny shots so they think we’re normal. _‘Yes, we see you, yes, we don’t care if we look like shit, now let us have our peaceful day in the park and be a normal couple.’_ ”

It doesn’t quite sink into Kurt’s head, but he doesn’t expect it to. Sebastian knows firsthand the differences between exposure on Broadway and exposure in Hollywood—the one or two photographers who show up at stage door where they’re expected and welcomed, versus the hordes that follow celebrities down the street when they try to go about the mundane activities in their lives.

“Anyway, it’s…” Sebastian lifts his free arm and wriggles it slightly so the sleeve of his jacket inches up and reveals his expensive watch. “Ten o’clock, meaning Em and Isabelle have probably called them away, but some are probably going to stick around and try to get a couple more shots since their cameras are full of us making stupid faces.”

“Mhm,” Kurt hums around his last mouthful of coffee, tossing the cup in a nearby trashcan. That means they’ve got to at least look interested, though Kurt can’t see any of the straggling photographers Sebastian mentioned. If anything, there’s a couple of kids playing hooky and wandering around with their cell phones out, so there’s slight potential for a Twitter sighting if any of the kids recognize them.

“So,” he tries, grasping for more things to talk about, “I told you about my friends. Your turn.”

Sebastian veers off the path then, stopping in a particularly green spot of grass next to a patch of trees, where they’re still visible, but there’s at least some privacy. Gently, mindful of the fact that the grass is still vaguely damp from the early morning sprinklers, he pulls Kurt down so they’re both sitting, then lays flat on his back, staring up at the bare tree branches above. He stares at Kurt, unblinking but clearly saying _lay down you fuckwad_ , until Kurt finally gives in and lays next to him, glad he’s in dark jeans and a black coat so the grass stains won’t be visible.

It’s quiet for a while as they just lay there, and Kurt can tell that Sebastian is either avoiding the question or thinking up a good answer by the way his thick brows are furrowed.

“Pro-tip,” Sebastian finally says, breathing out a long stream of air, “once you get into Hollywood, you kind of have no friends.”

Something about the tone of his voice is bitter and raw, and Kurt doesn’t want to comment on it because _they’re not friends, they don’t care one way or another, he’s only asking to pass the time_.

“Like when Aaron Tveit did the film for Les Mis and everyone up here got super bitter about it?” Kurt wonders, finally, trying to lighten up Sebastian’s dark tone. “I swear, it’s been years and some people here are _still_ sulking about it.”

Sebastian snorts at that, like he wasn’t expecting it, and he actually laughs for a minute before sobering up. “No, that’s not what I—never mind.” He pauses and breathes out again. “Anyway, friends, yeah, I’ve got a couple. Jesse—Berry’s Jesse—is one of the few people from Spring Awakening that I still talk to, and then there’s Santana.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Sebastian’s lips curl into half a smile when he says the girl’s name.

“She’s the Rachel to your Kurt,” Kurt mentions, smirking.

Sebastian smirks back. “Huh?”

“The female version of you,” Kurt clarifies.

This gets a real laugh out of Sebastian, nothing unexpected or bitter. “Yeah, I guess so. Also the first person I had sex with, which is awkward, considering the fact that we’re both gay.”

“What?!”

Sebastian’s _really_ laughing now, pulling a glove off to run a hand over his face. “ _God_. We went to high school together in Chicago and realized we were kinda gay at the same time, when we were fourteen, so we decided to have sex with each other just to be sure we were. And we definitely were. Sounds so fucking stupid now.”

“It’s not that stupid,” Kurt reasons, rolling his eyes at himself for the story he’s about to tell. “Brittany, from the coffee shop? My first kiss. She was concerned that I was the only boy in school she hadn’t kissed and I wanted my dad to think that I was straight, so we made sure he caught us making out in my bedroom.”

“Shit, maybe we should hook Santana and Brittany up.” Sebastian goes to laugh again, but his expression turns solemn. “Your dad… Is he okay with it?”

Kurt nods, smiling softly to himself. He’d briefed his dad and stepmom and Finn on the whole fake-dating situation right after the first paparazzi shots came out, and he can still hear Burt’s voice in his ear, _“if this sunnuvabitch upsets you in any way, fake or not, you know I’m gonna hunt his ass down, right?”_

“Yeah,” Kurt confirms. “I came out to him when I was fifteen and he was fine with it.”

Sebastian’s eyes are watching him now, as he’s laying on his side, propped up on an elbow, like he actually cares to listen and swap stories, so Kurt prompts him.

“How’d your parents take it?”

Sebastian sighs to himself before chuckling and rubbing his bare hand across his face again. “My parents are the heads of a conservation society full of hippies, so they’re all about tolerance and shit—you know, as much as a couple of straight, rich white people can be. My mom cried tears of joy because she was proud of me and my dad laughed because he already knew—when my brother came out a few years before, all I asked him was if his boyfriend was hot, so I mean...”

He huffs and stands up at that, extending a hand down to help Kurt up.

“ _And_ now we’re telling personal stories. Wanna climb all over the Alice in Wonderland statue like we’re eight-year-olds instead?”

Kurt nods, a little bewildered, but grabs at Sebastian’s hand anyway—the bare one, which feels much nicer in his than the leather glove from before.

“Sounds good to me.”

It’s weird after that, in that it’s not weird at all. They climb the statue, taking stupid pictures of each other because Emma and Isabelle will be thrilled with Instagram photos, a sweet old woman lets them play with her dog while she rests on a bench, and as they’re walking back to Kurt’s apartment building, he realizes that there weren’t many awkward moments or uncomfortable silences. They just seemed… friendly. And that’s definitely not a term he ever thought he’d use when referring to Sebastian Smythe.

“So. This is me,” Kurt says, motioning at his building like Sebastian hadn’t picked him up from it a few hours before. “I guess I’ll see you… when’s our next outing? The first?”

Sebastian nods. “Better get your kissing lips ready, babe.”

Sebastian turns to walk away right as Kurt processes what he’s said. God, the first publicized kiss. He hasn’t thought about that since Rachel was hounding him about…

Shit, the wedding.

“Sebastian!” Kurt calls as Sebastian’s gotten a little further down the sidewalk. He saunters back up, hitting Kurt with a confused look.

“I know we were all romantic and shit today, sweetheart, but you don’t have to give me a goodnight kiss and your letterman’s jacket,” he says, and those walls are up again, but Kurt can see the genuine friendliness behind it.

“I forgot, I’m supposed to ask you this or Rachel will badger me to death about it. I’ve already run it by Isabelle, and she thinks it’s great for publicity, and she said she’d talk to Emma, but you can say no if you want because it’s not like we’re exactly—”

Sebastian clears his throat to cut Kurt off, smirking that signature devilish smirk of his that’s got Hollywood crawling for him. “Spit it out then.”

“Rachel and Jesse’s wedding is February 15th, wanna be my plus one?”

Sebastian seems to consider it for a moment, tilting his head one way and humming softly before he nods. “Jesse already invited me and I was going to make a convenient excuse not to go, but hell, why not? Sure.”

He doesn’t say anything before he turns on a heel and heads back down the sidewalk again, so Kurt takes this as his cue to go back upstairs and out of the cold.

Of course, he hasn’t been in his apartment for ten minutes yet when there’s three knocks on his door in rapid succession. Lo and behold, Rachel Berry comes barreling in before he can even say hello, and this time she’s got a manic grin on her face.

“Before I say anything, cute faces in the paparazzi pictures, but Kurt! Guess what?! Guess who just RSVP’d to the wedding? You’re gonna flip.”

“Hello to you too, Rachel, such a lovely surprise to see you, thank you for waiting until I made sure you weren’t a burglar before I opened the door,” Kurt rattles off sarcastically, shutting the door and following Rachel into the kitchen where she literally _bounces_ onto a barstool. “Isn’t this a thing you could’ve told me over the phone?”

“Yes,” Rachel admits, “but I wanted to see your face when you heard the news.”

“Right, spit it out then,” Kurt says, and actively does not pay attention to the fact that Sebastian said precisely that not fifteen minutes ago. How it is that they’ve been tentative friends for half a day and Sebastian’s already rubbing off on him, he’ll never quite understand.

Rachel blinks at him with those freakishly large eyes until her smile looks like it’s about to absolutely snap her face in half before she blurts, “Blaine Anderson!”

Right then and there, Kurt’s heart drops into his stomach and his mouth dries up and his hands grasp for something that isn’t there. Blaine Anderson. Blaine. Anderson. The man he’s got an embarrassing crush is going to be there. At his best friends’ wedding.

And he’s going to have a date.

“Okay, your reaction is totally lackluster. I want excitement! I want fireworks in your eyes! Why are you staring at me like I just told you I called the wedding off?”

Kurt shakes his head of the rampant thoughts racing through his mind. “Sorry, it’s not your fault, it’s just—y’know, I’m bringing Sebastian, and which kind of throws a wrench into any Blaine seduction plans I might have had if he thinks I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“That’s the beauty of it all, though!” Rachel insists. “Your contract with Sebastian ends nine days after the wedding. Plant the seeds with Blaine there, and when the news breaks that you and Sebastian split because you think he totally sucks—”

“Actually under contract that we have an amicable split and say nothing but nice things about each other when asked,” Kurt clarifies.

“ _Fine_. When the news breaks that you and Sebastian split and you think he totally doesn’t suck, you and Blaine can give it a shot.”

Kurt considers for a moment, then he breaks into a grin. “Okay, Rachel Berry, I don’t often give you credit, but you may actually be a genius for this one.”

Rachel props her chin up on her hands, smiling angelically and batting her eyelashes before she starts in again. “Speaking of Sebastian, how’d you tolerate an entire morning with him?”

With a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, Kurt says, “I didn’t hate it. I don’t know, he might actually turn out to be a real boy.”

“Oh, Kurt.” Rachel’s expression is tragic, like she’s just watched her puppy get run over by an eighteen-wheeler. “Honey, this is the first step. _I didn’t hate it_ becomes _I liked it_ which becomes _I loved it_ , and that leads to _I love him_ and _bam_ , you might as well cue the peppy OneRepublic song and the credits, because you are in romcom territory.”

“I am not in romcom territory. I can bear to be in his presence without gagging, it’s not like we’re going to fall in love against all odds and live happily ever after. I am no Drew Barrymore.”

“Whatever you say,” Rachel mutters unconvincingly. “I still reserve the right to my ‘I told you so.’”

  


* * *

  


_**♡ ali ♡** @mrsharrystyles_  
 _WHAAAT SINCE WHEN DO SEBASTIAN SMYTHE AND KURT HUMMEL HANG OUT!?!?!? #centralpark #rightnow #ishipit_  
 _10:46 AM - 23 Jan 19_

_**k8** @kate2345_  
 _@ mrsharrystyles G U R L YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE RUMOR THAT THEY'RE DATING? I'M SO JEAL THO WTF_  
 _10:51 AM - 23 Jan 19_

_**♡ ali ♡** @mrsharrystyles_  
 _@ kate2345 WHAT GOH M YGOD??? CAN I CONFIRM IT THEN BC THEY ARE HOLDING HANDS AND GIGGLING RN IST'S O FUJCKIKNG CUTE I'FM FREKAING OUT_  
 _10:53 AM - 23 Jan 19_

_**♡ ali ♡** @mrsharrystyles_  
 _THEY’RE TAKING SELFIES WITH EACH OTHER ON THE ALICE IN WONDERLAND STATUE I AM 1000% DONE_  
 _11:11 AM - 23 Jan 19_

_**♡ ali ♡** @mrsharrystyles_  
 _someone’s dog got off its leash and they’re playing with it oh my god. oh my god. oh my gOD._  
 _11:25 AM - 23 Jan 19_

  


* * *

  


_**Kurt Hummel** @hummelkurt_  
 _@ sebastiansmythe communicating with his own kind. http://instagram.com/p/zJJIW_  
  
 _11:34 AM - 23 Jan 19_


	3. Chapter 3

He knows by now to have a general grip on Awards Season dates and times, so when Tina’s text comes, alerting him about Sunday’s SAG Awards coverage, Kurt’s already on the couch with the TV on and a takeout box of shrimp Pad Thai on the tray in front of him. There’s no Jesse or Rachel now, too busy meeting at the bakery to finalize their wedding cake design, so Kurt can fully pay attention and react without Rachel blabbering or Jesse snoring.

This time, Sebastian shows up early into the red carpet coverage with the rest of the cast, laughing about something with Quinn when they step out of the car. He’s gone with a navy blue suit this time, and goddamnit, he’s actually pulling it off. Quinn sticks by his side for the photo ops, looking like Cinderella in a powder blue dress with her hair pulled into an elegant bun.

Coverage switches to Helena Bonham Carter after that, and as much as Kurt is dying to watch Queen HBC work the red carpet, he can see Sebastian in the background, walking over to the E! cameras, which means—

Yep. Once Kurt flips the channel to E!, he’s greeted to Sebastian and Ryan Seacrest smiling at the camera.

“We’re here with Sebastian Smythe, nominated tonight for his role in Kill the Messenger. Congratulations, Sebastian, and also for the Golden Globe and the Oscar nomination. How does it feel?”

Sebastian laughs and brushes a hand through the back of his hair before running his hand across his jawline, the same nervous tic from Central Park the other day. “It’s madness. I mean, a couple years ago I was this nobody kid on Broadway and now I’m jetting to California every other week to pose for cameras and have a bunch of people tell me how great I am, so I mean… I could get used to it, yeah.”

He laughs to himself, but Ryan’s already barreling in with the next question. “Now this is your first big film role, right? Did it occur to you, as you were reading the script, that your very first foray into film could be so successful for you?”

“God, no!” Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head. “I read the script and it was fantastic, but I always had this thought in the back of my mind that I was going to totally screw it up and set the record for most Razzies won by an actor for a single performance, but the cast was so incredible that I don’t think we could’ve gone wrong. Working with Quinn and Jason, who play my girlfriend and my father, taught me so many things.”

It’s false modesty, Kurt knows, because the Sebastian Smythe he remembers is confident about his acting to a fault, but it’s still amusing to watch the red carpet persona he’s built up—the shy, nervous Broadway boy who’s just happy to be here.

There’s an awkward sweep of the StyleCam for a moment that pauses a little too long on Sebastian’s long legs (that Kurt definitely doesn’t notice), before it switches back to Ryan.

“Now, we’ve seen your name in the headlines lately with another certain someone. Did you bring a date tonight?”

There’s a millisecond’s worth of panic in Sebastian’s eyes, like he wasn’t expecting the question, and he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses before giving a coy smirk at the camera.

“I don’t know _what_ you could possibly be talking about,” he says with a wink. When he gestures next to him, where Quinn’s being interviewed for the website, the camera follows his movement so Quinn can grin into it and squeeze his hand. “Quinn’s my date.”

Ryan laughs along with it before reaching to shake Sebastian’s hand. “Have it your way. Ladies and gentlemen, Sebastian Smythe! Good luck in there tonight.”

Immediately after the camera switches to Robert Downey Jr., Kurt reaches for his cell phone on the table because he can’t _not_ tease Sebastian over that.

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
Wow, how much did you pay Emma for the Charm School lessons? You’re a real boy, Pinocchio! _

The phone vibrates with a reply halfway through an interview with Jason Bateman, who Kurt was _certainly_ not ogling.

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
Watching my interviews are you, babe? lol, they want pleasant and humble, I’ll give them pleasant and humble. _

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
Don’t flatter yourself, Isabelle’s forcing me. Tell Quinn she looks beautiful. _

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
Thank you!! It’s Quinn btw, nice to text-meet you, gorgeous! I promise I’ll keep your boy out of trouble tonight :) _

Clearly Quinn isn’t in on the plan, and Kurt hopes with all his might that the mention of Isabelle didn’t seem too off-color to her, but she seems sweet, so he doesn’t dwell on it. The phone gets passed between Sebastian and Quinn all night either way, giving Kurt inside scoop (Jake Gyllenhaal just leered at Sebastian’s ass, Evan Rachel Wood’s even prettier in person, and nobody seems to notice that the two of them are steadily getting shitfaced). 

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
Oh mu ogd I hoep I dn’t win this awrad I cna’t make a speech liek thhs_

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
give it to ezra miiller he’s jsut high i bet he’s nto durnk_

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
ok they gave it to ezra good be cuase he’s raeelly hot_

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
not as hot as uyo are btu still hot_

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
thta was quinn!!! _

Something about the immediate response throws Kurt off, and he glances up at the TV screen to find the camera passing by their table during Ezra Miller’s acceptance speech, where Quinn’s hands are resting under her chin as she watches with glassy eyes, while Sebastian’s hands are nowhere to be seen, under the table with his eyes fixated on something in his lap.

Yeah, Sebastian, that was _totally_ Quinn.

Kurt doesn’t really think too much of it, though. Rachel once had a boyfriend, Puck, who was Mr. Macho Straight Guy while sober, but the moment he got alcohol in his system, started flirting mercilessly with everyone around, especially Kurt. So Sebastian’s probably just a flirty drunk. Whatever.

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
Mhm, sure it was, drunky. Stay hydrated and don’t puke on Quinn’s pretty gown. See you Friday. _

  


* * *

  


  
Friday, again, is oddly pleasant. This time, Kurt is the one to meet Sebastian at his apartment, which is only a couple of blocks away, and they slip into a Starbucks on the corner for mid-afternoon drinks and leave hand-in-hand. There’s only a couple of paparazzi today, hiding in bushes and behind cars so they’re not as overwhelming as the last couple of outings, and it’s nice to actually be able to breathe without being hounded.

“Where are we even going?” Kurt wonders aloud, watching the buildings as they pass by. The streets are filling up with kids leaving school to go home and people on their lunch breaks, and for a moment, he feels normal. Like he’s not holding hands with an Oscar nominee just for the publicity. Like they’re an actual couple.

The thought leaves Kurt’s mind quicker than it had entered, and what a strange thought it was. He blames the fact that his body’s beginning to crave the emotional closeness so much that it’ll take it from anyone. It’s been a while since he’s been in a relationship—not since Adam, the sweet children’s music teacher with the piercing blue eyes and the soft English accent, who only broke up with him because he got a job offer all the way in Washington state. Since then, he’s only had the occasional hookup or makeout session, and as much as he likes the physicality of it, Kurt’s always been a sucker for the emotional side of relationships, which is precisely why the weird, fleeting thought of being in one with someone like Sebastian, who’s never believed in that sort of thing, is just that: fleeting.

“ _It’s the journey, not the destination_ ,” Sebastian recites in a dramatic voice, waving the hand that’s holding his coffee about. He snorts to himself before continuing, “Fuck if I know. Our instructions for the day were ‘walk in Manhattan and kiss.’ Not very specific.”

Kurt vehemently ignores the kiss part, just for now, and pulls Sebastian into a familiar shop. Page Turner is a teensy little bookstore tucked into an old building that used to be a deli way back when, and sometimes he swears he can still catch an unpleasant whiff of phantom cold cuts in the air, but there’s also a certain charm to it. The shelves are mismatched and most of the books in them are used, well-worn with cracked spines and beat-up covers, and the walls are lined with faded literature posters: a large _BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU_ in one corner, and a Peter Pan peeking through the space between two shelves. A boy with thick curls who can’t be more than eighteen waves from behind the sales counter when Kurt and Sebastian walk in.

“Okay, this is not a place I’d like to be in if we were in a horror movie,” Sebastian notes, walking past a bookshelf that litters chips of dried pink paint when his arm brushes it, “but it’s kind of badass. How the hell’d you even find it?”

Kurt shrugs, unlinking his hand from Sebastian’s and ignoring the rush of cold air that hits his palm. “I was desperately searching for an old Newsies script last summer, and this was the only shop in the city where I could find one.”

“Hm.” Sebastian drops his coffee cup in a trashcan and starts glancing through book covers. “Well, color me impressed, Hummel. Your theater nerdity has actually worked out for something.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and shoots Sebastian a daring look. “Yeah, like me winning a Tony.”

Sebastian laughs heartily at that, shaking his head so his hair falls in his eyes from under the beanie he’s got on. “Aw damn, you got my Golden Globe-winning, Oscar-nominated ass there. Ready to kiss it?”

Kurt freezes again at the mention of kissing. He’s been psyching himself out for it all day, trying to convince himself that it’s fine, it’s nothing, it’ll be easy, but it’s hard to keep that mentality. He thinks back to Adam, how he hasn’t had a real boyfriend in a year, and how this arrangement’s been blurring the lines between friend, enemy, acquaintance, and lover. It’s been comfortable enough because he’s got no problems with showing affection by touch—hell, he’s been known to have mean cuddle sessions with Rachel and Jesse—but it’s the kissing that’s got him worried. Kissing is intimate, trusting someone enough to let them get close enough to hurt you, yet believing that they won’t. Kurt’s not even sure if he trusts Sebastian yet.

With a quick glance out of the large window at the front of the shop, Kurt can see a couple of waiting paparazzi by a streetlamp, cameras held in their hands while they not-so-subtly look into the shop every so often, impatient for the boys to come out of it and start kissing like they’re meant to.

“You alright?” Sebastian starts to ask. “I didn’t mean to—wait. Oh my god. You’re _nervous_.”

Kurt glares heavily at him, but he doesn’t find any malice behind Sebastian’s eyes. “So what if I am?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, asshat,” Sebastian says good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine if you’re nervous or whatever. I’m not going to impugn on your virtue or anything, you can just peck on the lips if you’re uncomfortable.”

With the paparazzi looking through the window, Sebastian’s reached his hand up to cup the back of Kurt’s head in his palm, brushing his fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He looks sincere enough, but there’s still the bubble of anxiety blooming in Kurt’s chest.

“No, it’s—it’s not that I’m afraid to actually kiss it’s just. How in the hell are _you and I_ going to look natural when we do it?” It’s not entirely true, but it’s enough of an excuse.

Sebastian rolls his eyes as he uncurls his fingers from Kurt’s hair only to hold his hand again. Before they reach the door of the shop again, he gives Kurt a serious look. “Think of the last person you really wanted to kiss and just… pretend I’m them.”

Once they’re out of the shop, Kurt can see the paparazzi slyly adjusting their cameras under their coats to get covert shots, but he doesn’t care.

Sebastian told him to think of the last person he wanted to kiss.

The problem is, the moment those words came out of his mouth, Kurt couldn’t think of a single person.

And when Sebastian lifts Kurt’s knuckles to peck them for show, all he can think of is the fact that _he wants to kiss Sebastian_.

It’s a moment of sheer lunacy that prompts Kurt to push onto his toes to wind his arms comfortably around Sebastian’s neck before sliding their lips together. Even Sebastian’s taken aback by it, but he quickly moves to hold Kurt’s slim waist in his hands, squeezing gently when the kiss deepens.

Kurt’s suddenly smacked across the face by the fact that his tongue is in Sebastian Smythe’s mouth and he pulls away sheepishly, oblivious to the grin that’s spreading across Sebastian’s face, instead tugging him back down the street.

“Good job,” Sebastian mumbles against the side of Kurt’s head before snaking his arm around his middle. “You’re getting the hang of this.”

When the hammering of his heart dies down, Kurt finally lets out a spiteful laugh. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that.  


  


* * *

  


  
_**Perez Hilton**_  
 _2/1/2019 5:02 PM ET | Filed Under: Love Line • Kurt Hummel • Sebastian Smythe_  
 **Kurt Hummel & Sebastian Smythe are… cute?**

_We were skeptics at the beginning, but we’re starting to like the idea of the oh-so-yummy **Kurt Hummel** and **Sebastian Smythe** as a couple! _

_After being seen having lunch together and holding hands in Central Park last month, the award-winning actors finally show us a little PDA while spending time together in a bookshop in Manhattan. The lovebirds got close inside before puckering up after leaving. So sweet!_

_We hate to admit it, but the couple looked very happy! Our dreams of kissing Kurt will just have to stay dreams… for now._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some slut-shaming near the end of the chapter!

It’s nothing Kurt can’t deal with. He’s playing a character, the doting boyfriend of the Hollywood heartthrob, and he’s getting into the role. Whatever. Character bleed happens to the best of them—hell, look at Andrew Garfield, who’s never met a costar he didn’t fall half in love with. Even Rachel and Jesse started out as a result of character bleed.

Except Andrew’s been with Emma Stone for years now, and Rachel and Jesse are on their way down the aisle in less than two weeks.

He really needs to think of some better examples.

No time, though, because he’s already running late for a scheduled meeting with Isabelle and Emma, a sort of progress report like they’re elementary school students, and the only thing that’s on his mind, other than the fact that he probably looks like a madman racing through the office, is that he has to face Sebastian after sort-of admitting to himself that he maybe somewhat kind of sort of a little bit liked their kiss yesterday.

Isabelle and Emma are smiling their usual polite smiles when he steps into the office, thankfully only nine minutes late, but it’s Sebastian, sans glasses with his hair ruffled and a green utility jacket on so his eyes pop even more than usual, that catches him off guard. He’s smiling like he’s _actually_ happy to see Kurt, not just eager to get this over with.

“Hi! Sorry, I had the slowest cab driver this morning,” Kurt announces as he sits in the chair next to Sebastian’s. It’s not a complete lie—he did have a slow driver, but if it wasn’t for the extra fifteen minutes spent staring in the mirror willing himself not to be attracted to the man he’s supposed to be faking attraction to, he’d have actually been on time.

“No problem, sweetie, we were just mentioning to Sebastian what a positive response the two of you are getting from the media,” Emma replies in her bubbly voice.

“Of course,” Isabelle adds, “thanks in part to your badass publicists who can turn any talk of PR relationships right around.”

Kurt smiles gratefully at her, but he can see Sebastian frown out of the corner of his eye.

“Who’s caught on to the fake thing? We’ve been pretty damn convincing.” He dares a glance at Kurt, and Kurt can’t fight the approving smile on his face. “Right?”

“Oh, don’t freak out, Sebastian,” Isabelle chides. “It’s just some ONTD commenters, but they think everyone’s a PR relationship.”

Emma nods in agreement before standing up. “Well. Anticlimactic, but that’s really all we had to say. You’re free to go now!”

Kurt cocks an eyebrow. He’s barely been sitting five minutes after a stressful ride here, and they’re already done.

“Huh?”

Isabelle laughs to herself. “We originally set this meeting up because we figured one of you would have cracked by now.”

“But you haven’t! You’re actually making our lives much easier,” Emma finishes with a smile. “Just stick to the schedule, and ooh! The Instagram posts are a wonderful touch, good job, Kurt.”

Kurt smiles smugly as he stands up and is immediately pulled into a hug by the little redhead. Sebastian’s grinning at him over Emma’s shoulder until she lets go of Kurt and hugs him as well.

This time, they get into the elevator together, and Kurt smiles to himself for a second as he leans against the wall.

“Two weeks ago we wouldn’t even get into this elevator without screaming at each other,” he chuckles, and he’s pleasantly surprised when Sebastian laughs along.

“Yeah, blame Quinn Fabray, a cell phone, and way too much Moët & Chandon. They’ll make anyone friendly.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and Sebastian immediately slows his pace, looking as if he doesn’t quite want to reach the outside yet. Kurt figures this, if any time were to ever be it, is his moment.

“Hey,” he says. “If you’re bored enough, I’ve got Netflix and the best pizza place in NYC across the street from my building.”

The grateful smile on Sebastian’s face is all he needs in reply.

  


* * *

  


“What the fuck? Are you fucking serious? No. _No_. Fuck you, Kurt, seriously, just _fuck you_.”

The latest development in the _Kurt has an inconvenient maybe-crush on Sebastian_ saga is that Sebastian is adorable when he’s irritated.

“Oh no. Not you, too. Toad, you dumb motherfucker. Who the fuck just red shelled me?”

Even if it’s over Mario Kart.

“I fucking hate Rainbow Road, I swear to fucking—oh my god. How did you even win that one?”

Before Kurt can even properly gloat about his stunning victory, the Wii remote’s being smacked out of his hand and his body is shoved back until he’s flat on the couch cushions, Sebastian sitting on his hips and furiously digging his fingers into Kurt’s sides until they’re both shrieking with laughter, shouting nonsense at each other like they’re kids.

“Quit it!”

“Never! No mercy!”

They wrestle and scratch and swat at each other until they have to take a breather, and that’s when Kurt stills and realizes.

Sebastian.

Sitting on top of him.

Hands buried underneath his shirt.

Fingers splayed out across his stomach.

 _Oh_.

Sebastian seems to notice at the same time, because he coughs rather unconvincingly and climbs off of Kurt with a sheepish smile.

“I should, uh. Probably get going, I’ve got some schmoozing to do with a bunch of old film biz dudes,” he says, avoiding eye contact by staring at his feet. “Mind if I use the bathroom for a minute?”

Kurt gives a short nod and points down the hallway at the correct door, resolutely not staring at Sebastian’s ass as he walks away.

God, what the _hell_? He’d been doing so well with the whole ‘being normal’ thing all afternoon, too. There were no furtive glances, no leers across the room. He’d resisted the urge to reach across the empty seat between them in the cab, fought the blush that tried to creep up on his cheeks when Sebastian refused to go halfsies on the pizza and insisted on paying himself, since he was the intruder in the apartment.

But no. this isn’t his fault, at least not completely. Mario Kart was Sebastian’s idea, once he saw it tucked away on a shelf in Kurt’s entertainment center when they got bored of browsing through Netflix. It was Sebastian who straddled him, Sebastian who initiated the tickling, Sebastian whose fingerprints still feel burnt into Kurt’s skin where they were resting just a minute before.

This isn’t all his fault, and that’s what keeps Kurt relatively sane until a default text tone beeps loudly and cuts through his thoughts. Both his and Sebastian’s identical iPhones have been discarded on the coffee table, so Kurt reaches out blindly and grabs the closest one, the one that rang, expecting a text from Rachel or Isabelle or even his dad, if Finn’s finally taught him how to master the new phone he bought himself for Christmas.

What he sees, though, is just about the opposite of one of his father’s endearingly typo-ridden texts.

_**From: J**  
thx 4 the good time lst nite. any chance 4 a round 2?? ;) _

Kurt desperately hopes he’s just gotten a wrong number or a prank text, but he soon realizes he’s not even holding his own cell phone, unless someone’s replaced his background photo of himself, Rachel, and Jesse all pulling dumb faces with a photo of the New York skyline from the Statue of Liberty.

So Sebastian’s been fucking around. Okay. Right.

He knows he has no right at all to be angry—they’re not dating and they’re not even really _friends_ —but the rage begins to simmer low in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. For now, he blames the fact that it’s Sebastian’s tendency to have as much sex with as many people as he pleases with reckless abandon that got them into this convoluted situation in the first place, and the fact that had he known Sebastian was still out having sex, _he_ could have been too, none of this _‘oh, but Rachel, I can’t flirt with Blaine, I have a fake boyfriend’_ bullshit.

And when Sebastian comes walking back down the hall, still avoiding eye contact with the blush high on his cheeks, Kurt can’t hide his stony glare as he hands the phone back, the message from “J” still lit up on the screen.

“So you’re still out having sex,” he spits.

Sebastian’s eyebrows knight together in confusion as he looks at the phone, then his expression darkens. “What’s it to you?”

“It’s a big fucking convenience!” Kurt shouts, standing up so he’s closer to eye level and Sebastian can see the frustration in his eyes. “I’m doing this whole ‘pretending to date you’ thing so you won’t get the reputation of someone who sleeps around, and what do you do? You sleep around anyway!”

“What does it fucking matter as long as I keep it discreet?!” Sebastian yells back. “You’re not my goddamned boyfriend, I don’t have to be faithful to you, you’re just the naïve little twink that was just inoffensive and vanilla enough to boost my reputation!”

This lights the metaphorical fire beneath Kurt, and his next words come out venomous, harsher than he’s probably ever heard himself.

“And you’re just the slut whose reputation is riding on what this ‘naïve little twink’ thinks of you, which, at this point, is that you’re a rude, cynical asshole who has no idea whatsoever how to let people in, so he covers it up by being horrible to everyone around him.”

He knows he said the wrong thing the minute it leaves his mouth, and he doesn’t even mean it, not really, but he can’t find it in him to take back the words right now. Sebastian just stares, eyes narrowed to dark slits, jaw hanging open the slightest bit as he breathes raggedly through his mouth before slamming it shut and glaring heavily at Kurt.

“You and I aren’t so different, Kurt,” he says icily, backing up towards the door. “I may not like to let people in, but, hey! At least I can admit it. But you? You’re just as bad as I am. You don’t even give people a _chance_ , and you think you’re protecting yourself, but you’re really just pushing everyone away.”

“You don’t know that,” Kurt chokes, and his hands are balled into such tight fists that he can feel his too-long nails threatening to break the skin of his palms.

“I do,” Sebastian says. “You play this high and mighty act and it alienates people, no matter how much you think it doesn’t. You’ll never admit that you’re wrong, that you could be the problem. And it’s killing you right now that I’ve got you pinpointed like this.”

Kurt doesn’t move, doesn’t even shift his facial expression, just opens his mouth and growls, “ _Get out_.”

But it’s futile, because Sebastian’s already halfway gone anyway, slamming the apartment door shut behind him, so Kurt can finally sink back onto the couch, tears welling up in his eyes and burning hot trails down his cheeks.

It was always the thing he hated the most about Sebastian: his ability to read people, to figure out their weaknesses and expose them at the worst possible moments. It’s why Rachel hates him, ever since he pointed out how her ego gets the best of her and ruins what could be her best performances, and it’s something Kurt’s always been glad Sebastian’s never had the chance to do to him.

Until now.

On the coffee table, his own phone, the one he should have grabbed in the first place, is still resting, and Kurt reaches for it, numbly scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Rachel’s name. His finger hovers over the call button before he stops and drops the phone back onto the table.

He pushes people away. It’s the reason he only really hangs out with Rachel and Jesse. It’s the reason he didn’t fight harder for Adam to stay in New York. It’s the reason he’s sitting here now, alone and miserable.

Sebastian’s right, and he’s going to stay right for the rest of the night, because Kurt is going to push the world away until he can figure out a way to fix this.

  


* * *

  


_**Oh Sebastian, Sebastian…**_  
 _JBI Gossip_  
 _February 3, 2019_

_What’s this? After less than a month in the spotlight, America’s most recent super-couple is starting to crumble. It appears that Broadway actor Kurt Hummel and recent Oscar nominee Sebastian Smythe are hitting a rough patch. Sources say that the pair were involved in a heated argument in Kurt’s Manhattan apartment last night—so loud they could be heard through the hallway. One witness claims that Sebastian was being vilified for an alleged infidelity and left the building in a huff after Kurt kicked him out._

_If it’s true, well... We can’t say we didn’t see it coming._


	5. Chapter 5

The days slip by slowly, and even though Sebastian’s all the way across the country in L.A. for some Directors’ Guild event, Kurt doesn’t dare leave his apartment for fear of running into _something_ that would remind him of him: the coffee shop, the Alice in Wonderland statue, Page Turner, even the goddamned GameStop down the street with the Mario Kart display in the window. His phone’s dead, buried in the drawer of his bedside table just in case he got the bright idea to be even more of an insensitive jerk and text his apology instead of getting the guts to speak to Sebastian in person.

He knew he was wrong the minute the door had slammed behind Sebastian, and now that he’s had more time to simmer down and really think about it, Kurt’s been in a near-constant state of self-hatred, burying himself in takeout and Netflix marathons, just waiting for Sebastian to get back so he can apologize for being such an idiot.

It’s Tuesday when Kurt next sees another human life, though it’s not by his own choice. He’s curled up on the couch under a blanket, reliving high school by rewatching Pretty Little Liars and marveling over Ian Harding’s general existence, when his apartment door opens and the familiar clunking of boots against the hardwood floor rings in the air.

“Rachel,” Kurt says in a monotone without even looking up. He pauses the TV and stretches his back out before turning around to see his best friend looking like a cross between a sad puppy and an angry kitten. “You’re here. You are _always_ here. Are you my fairy godmother or something?”

“Probably,” Rachel replies without skipping a beat. “Glad to see your shunning of the human race for the past four days hasn’t broken your sense of humor, but why _have_ you been shunning the human race for the past four days?”

Kurt just flops back onto the couch face-first, letting out a dread-filled groan into the cushion beneath him.

“Come on, Cinderfella, I can’t be your fairy godmother if you won’t tell me what’s up!” Rachel presses, sitting herself next to Kurt and yanking him back into a sitting position. “Get up, stop moping, let me bibbidi bobbidi boo you back to normal.”

“No, because if I tell you, you’re gonna laugh,” Kurt bemoans, but this only further eggs Rachel on, if the fact that she’s now bouncing in her seat is anything to go by.

“Spill! I just spent my morning debating the merits of ivory versus eggshell versus ecru with Jesse’s mother and I desperately need entertainment.”

Kurt gives her a once-over and says, hoping to change the subject because in no way is he going to admit she was right about him having feelings for Sebastian, “For your skin tone? Definitely ecru.”

“I know, that’s what I told her, but Ellen’s an ivory purist and she can suck it because my dress is already done and paid for,” Rachel rambles, but her eyes quickly narrow into a glare that she aims at Kurt. “No changing the subject. Speak or I will start talking about Jesse’s private parts in detail and—”

“Okay!” Kurt finally blurts, cutting her off. Jesse’s a good-looking guy and all, but Kurt really is content with a life of not knowing what his dick looks like. “It’s stupid, though. Sebastian and I just got into a fight the other day and he immediately had to fly out to California again before I could apologize.”

Rachel _hmms_ momentarily. “So JBI wasn’t lying. That’s a first.”

Kurt freezes. “JBI? This is on gossip sites?! Did Sebastian sell the story the minute I pissed him off? Am I that much of an ass?”

“Relax, it was an anonymous tip and JBI is basically the National Enquirer of the gossip blog circuit, nobody even picked up the story,” Rachel explains.

There’s a brief second when Kurt thinks he’s out of the woods, that he’s actually managed to tell Rachel that he’s upset over Sebastian without getting a spiel about Katherine Heigl in return, and it’s a blissful moment, but all good things must come to an end.

“But I am _definitely_ picking up on the fact that you are having _feelings_ over Sebastian!” she announces loudly, as if there’s an audience in front of her instead of an otherwise empty apartment. Good ol’ Rachel.

“It’s not that!” Kurt feels the need to correct. “The fight, it—We both kind of said things that cut deep, and that’s what’s got me all messed up, okay?”

“But it’s exactly that!” Rachel tries again. “The fact that you two _can_ say things that cut so deep, _that’s_ what’s the big deal here. You know each other well enough after only—what? A couple of weeks?—to know each other’s weaknesses!”

Kurt flops back over, burying his face in the sofa cushion once more as Rachel soldiers on. “You know, at first I had you two pegged for 27 Dresses, but this is turning very Disney’s Hercules all of the sudden. You even look like you’re about to burst into ‘I Won’t Say I’m In Love.’”

“Trust me,” Kurt mumbles, lifting his head from the cushion to glare at her, “I’m not.”

“Aw, come on, we could duet like back in high school!” Rachel counters, once again pulling Kurt up so he’s looking at her once more. He knows she’s just doing this to try to make him smile, and he begrudgingly kind of appreciates it when she starts belting, _“You swoon, you sigh, why deny it? Uh-oh!”_

 _“It’s too cliché,”_ he sings back blandly for a moment, just to humor her, before switching back to his normal speaking voice. “I won’t say I’m crushing on my fake boyfriend who probably hates me.”

“See, was that so hard? And I even got to get my ‘I told you so’ out in song!” Rachel says excitedly, and Kurt’s about ready to flop back down on the cushion again when she puts both hands on his shoulders and looks him dead in the face.

“Look. I don’t even like the guy, so the fact that I’m even saying this better mean something to you. If you like him, then like him. If you’ve hurt each other, then _fix it_ , both of you, because mopey Kurt is no fun. You haven’t let yourself really like someone since Adam, not counting the adorable mini-crush on Blaine, and if you want to like Sebastian— _god_ , I can’t believe I’m saying this—then go for it.”

Rachel has this face she makes when she’s being serious— _actually_ serious, not her exaggerated, dramatized version of it. Her jaw sets and her dark eyes look almost liquid under furrowed brows, practically searing through the flesh of whoever she’s speaking to, imprinting the words _I’m not fucking around_ into them.

She’s turned that look on Kurt now, though there’s a bit of softness to it, almost encouragement, before she breaks it by laughing and kissing his cheek.

“But seriously, Kurt, sort yourself out because I’m getting married in a week and a half and _I’m_ the only one allowed to be dramatic then, okay?”

  


* * *

  


He can’t sleep right that night, tossing and turning in bed until he finally gives up around 5:45 in the morning and figures he might as well start his day early. Kurt takes a long shower, trying to think over a course of action for this apology of his, and he actually ventures outside to grab breakfast to-go from the diner down the street before taking it back to his apartment so he can watch TV while he eats.

He’s in the second hour of The Today Show, wondering exactly how drunk Kathy Lee can manage to get on air before the producers cut her off, when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it’s Rachel again, Kurt slowly lifts himself from the couch, mumbling a feeble _“I’m coming, I’m coming, calm yourself,”_ as he goes.

The person behind the door is definitely not Rachel, though, nor is it Jesse or Tina or Isabelle or anyone else he would have expected to show up at his apartment unannounced this morning.

“Hi,” Sebastian greets carefully, voice quiet and croaky. His eyes look tired, clothes a little more worn than usual under his coat, and, upon further inspection, he’s carrying a leather satchel, strapped across his chest, and two cups of coffee from the café next to the building. He seems to follow Kurt’s gaze, because he glances at his bag and the drinks, then looks sheepish for a moment. “I just came from the airport, I’m not—uh. Are you busy?”

Kurt darts a look back at the TV and the discarded remains of French toast in the Styrofoam container on the coffee table, lost for words, but he breathes a sigh and shakes his head. “No.”

“Do you mind if I come in, just for a minute?” Sebastian asks, avoiding eye contact as if he’s afraid of the answer. “I just have to say something and it’ll be really quick, I promise.”

“Yeah. Sure,” is all Kurt manages to say, and Sebastian’s hopeful half-smile as he follows Kurt into the kitchen is enough of a reply—a _thank you for not turning me away_. He extends one of the cups in his hands to Kurt as he leans against the counter, stretching out his back while he unstraps the bag from his shoulder and drops it at his feet. Kurt accepts the coffee, staring through the little hole in the lid until he sees it’s the color of his usual vanilla latte, and probably the same as the cup in Sebastian’s hands that he’s now idly nibbling the edge of.

When Kurt takes a cautious sip and hums at the taste of coffee and vanilla on his tongue, he doesn’t miss the tiny smile on Sebastian’s face, or the way he starts stumbling over his words.

“I’m an asshole,” Sebastian blurts when he regains his ability to speak in full sentences. “Especially when I’m mad. I get indignant and mouthy and I go too far. Those things I said about you pushing away—”

Kurt doesn’t look up, too busy staring at his hands wrapped around the paper cup, but he feels Sebastian staring at him and he can practically _hear_ the dark, cloudy look on his face. He’s not about to let Sebastian take all the blame for this, though, so he cuts him off.

“Were entirely true,” he supplies.

“Even if they were, I had no right to say it. It’s kind of my defense mechanism,” Sebastian admits sourly. “If I feel like someone’s trying to hurt me, I go into full-on raging, overly-perceptive asshole mode.”

That catches Kurt’s attention and he finally dares to look at Sebastian, whose body language is so much more closed off than usual. He doesn’t even look like himself without that trademark coy smirk or the daring look in his eyes. It’s this, seeing him crumpled in on himself, sad and angry and sorry and _hurt_ , that finally gets the idea fully through Kurt’s head, why the things he’d said that day were so bad. Sebastian thought he was going to be hurt. The same way he’d used Kurt’s weakness, his damned tendency to push people away, against him, Kurt had used Sebastian’s, the promiscuity he’s literally cast a fake boyfriend to cover up, so he wouldn’t be shamed for it. And now Kurt, the person who was supposed to be trustworthy, who was supposed to help, has proven himself to be just another one of the people who has tried to bring Sebastian down because of it.

It takes a minute of painful silence to gather his thoughts, but Kurt finally speaks.

“I think I _did_ want to hurt you at the time,” he admits quietly. “I felt betrayed for some stupid, unfounded reason, and I ran with it. I wanted you to feel the same way I did.”

It’s quiet again while Sebastian sucks his lower lip into his mouth, worrying at it with his front teeth and flicking the plastic coffee lid with his index finger while he appears to be thinking.

And then he laughs, a startling high noise in his throat, still gruff and drowsy but actually happy, and he’s smiling a real smile, and Kurt is so damn confused, but if Sebastian Smythe grinning at him isn’t a sight to behold.

“We’re just a couple of asses, aren’t we?” he snorts, flashing bright white teeth in a self-deprecating smile aimed at his feet. “Can’t communicate for shit.”

Kurt gives Sebastian a moment to gather himself, a moment in which his mind slowly becomes more at ease, knowing that at least some of the fences between them are being mended, though the confession he’d made to Rachel the day before is still a nervous weight in the pit of his stomach. He pushes it to the side for now, though, focusing on fixing this tentative friendship before even daring to wish for more.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt blurts, the words spilling out before he fully processes what he’s going to say. It comes out fumbling, but he hopes he gets his point across. “I was explosive and rude. Calling you a slut was completely out of line, whoever you want to have sex with is none of my damn business. And I really do mean it when I say you were right about me. We were becoming less of enemies and more of actual _friends_ , and it freaked me out because I’ve spent so long disliking you that I didn’t know what to do with actual affection, so I locked you out.”

It’s enough of the truth, if he ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that’s screaming _Oh, by the way, I think I’m kind of maybe crushing on you and I’m jealous of anyone who gets to have sex with you!_ One step at a time.

It startles a laugh out of Sebastian, though, but he quickly sobers. “Right about you or not, I still shouldn’t have called you out like that. And as stubborn as I am to admit it, I should’ve informed you that I was seeing people, because you’re as much a part of this agreement as I am and I should’ve let you know that you were allowed to get whatever prettyboy dick you wanted. I’m not sorry for having sex—well, I’m a _little_ sorry for having sex with Jack because he had no game and a serious case of whiskey dick—but I’m sorry for everything else. You’re not a naïve little twink, you’re actually… y’know, cool.”

Sebastian reaches a hand out, and for one desperate, pathetic second, Kurt wishes he’d twine their fingers together and pull him in for a kiss, but Sebastian just grabs his palm in a handshake. “Friends?”

The word is simultaneously relieving and crushing, but Kurt will take anything he can get at this point. He accepts the handshake and grins. “I _suppose_ I could deign to join the ranks of Santana and Jesse.”

He expects another soft laugh or smile out of Sebastian—really _anything_ but what he does: that is, grimace and drop his head into a hand with a sigh.

Kurt’s mind goes into overdrive then. Did he say something wrong? Did Sebastian expect a different answer? Can Sebastian hear his thoughts and can’t believe that Kurt _really_ thought he was going to kiss him under his own volition, without any cameras around?

Sebastian lifts his head, though, and scratches a hand through his messy hair, giving a frustrated sort of smile. “I should probably explain the weird _‘rah I have no friends, leave me alone’_ thing from a couple weeks ago, huh?”

It takes a moment for Kurt to recall the memory, but he does remember laying in the grass in Central Park and forcing Sebastian to talk about his friends, only to have him clam up and switch subjects right when they got into actual conversation.

“Yeah, I guess.” He tries for nonchalance and he hopes that Tony-winning acting comes out and he sounds flippant instead of suddenly afraid that the man in front of him is an axe murderer or a kidnapper or a snorer or something.

Sebastian snorts lightly and shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that! I promise I’m not on America’s Most Wanted or something, I’ve never even been worst dressed on Fashion Police.”

“A quality I can respect in a man,” Kurt quips, and now he’s genuinely grinning.

“God, you’re—you are something. I just meant, like… nobody in Hollywood’s really _friends_ , y’know? Maybe Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, but it’s not like it is here. You have your costars, and very rarely, they’ll become your actual friends, like Quinn, but usually everybody just wants something from you,” Sebastian rambles, a wild sort of look in his eyes that tames when he looks up at Kurt. “And then there’s you. The guy who gets told he has to be my boyfriend without any perks for himself at all, but agrees anyway, and asks about my friends and cares enough to listen to me ramble about my family and—”

He stops when he catches Kurt grinning at him, soft laughter spilling from his lips. Kurt only laughs harder when Sebastian glares.

“What?!”

“Nothing!” Kurt sputters. “It’s just that you’re giving me a spiel about why we’re friends and I feel like we’re in an episode of Lizzie McGuire.”

“Whatever.” Sebastian bends down to grab his satchel once more, slinging it over his shoulder with a small, pleased smile. “And I wasn’t fucking around when I said I came straight from the airport. I desperately need a shower and a nap, so… I should head home.”

Kurt nods, but he can’t miss the way Sebastian lingers by the door, and the little voice in his head takes over as he thinks _fuck it_ and blurts, “I could… walk you down? You know… for the publicity.”

He must’ve said the right thing because Sebastian’s tensed-up body loosens up a little and he turns around, holding a hand out. “I mean, I _do_ owe Emma for calling JBI today and forcing them to print up a retraction…”

Kurt steps into the pair of shoes he left by the door and doesn’t even bother with a coat before taking the outstretched hand and pulling Sebastian to the elevator. They don’t talk the whole way down, or when they stride through the lobby, but once they’re outside, Sebastian squeezes Kurt’s hand softly.

“Thanks,” he says, and Kurt doesn’t exactly know what he’s being thanked for, but he accepts it with a nod and before he’s really aware of it, he’s pulled against Sebastian’s chest, the other man’s lips against his ear.

“Paparazzo to the left,” he whispers. Kurt can see a man with a camera in his peripherals, so he nods and wraps one arm around Sebastian’s waist, letting the other tangle in the unkempt hair at the back of his head.

If they’re gonna play this up, then _goddamnit_ , he’s going to play it up.

Kurt barely registers the smirk returning to Sebastian’s lips before they’re pressed against his and there’s a hand reaching up to cup his cheek, a thumb running up and down his jawline, eyelashes brushing against the apples of his cheeks. This time when they kiss, there’s no freaking out about his tongue in Sebastian’s mouth—in fact, there are no tongues at all this time, just the slow, slick slide of lips and the soft scraping of teeth—and no nerves.

Kurt accepts his feelings then and there: he likes Sebastian and he likes kissing him and that’s okay. And when Sebastian pulls away with a smile to mirror his own, he knows _they’re_ okay.

Sebastian turns to leave and Kurt watches him go until he disappears into the crowd and Kurt can’t take the cold anymore.

  


* * *

  


_**We can admit when we’re wrong** _  
_JBI Gossip_  
 _February 6, 2019_

_…And we’re doing it now._

_Turns out that Sunday’s story about Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe getting into a lovers’ quarrel over Sebastian allegedly cheating was just that: a story. An unnamed employee of Kurt’s apartment building who was working on the night of the alleged spat has confirmed that the reports are untrue._

_“There was an argument, yes, but what couple doesn’t argue?” the witness told us. “What matters is they made up, they’re still very much together, and they seem happy.”_

_The pair were spotted just this morning outside of Kurt’s apartment, looking just as in love as ever, even locking lips before they parted ways._

_Our apologies go to Kurt and Sebastian. We’ll take this as a learning experience: not all anonymous tips are to be trusted!_


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel has been over to Kurt’s so many times lately that he was beginning to forget that she and Jesse have an apartment of their own, so he jumps at the invitation to hang out there instead of at his place, even if that means lounging on the couch drinking winter sangria and listening to the two of them half-drunkenly hash out last minute wedding ideas. They’re getting married in five days, so it’s kind of pointless because everything’s pretty much done besides the preparations on the actual day. The Berry and St. James families all mostly live in and around NYC, and the only big upcoming arrivals are friends from L.A. and Kurt’s family coming up from Ohio, but the always-dramatic couple is meticulously planning out what they’ll do in the event of a so-called emergency, like if the florist delivers the wrong shade of red roses or the caterers overcook the food or their L.A. friends show up late.

“Jesse can’t see me before the wedding, so if anything goes wrong, it’s your hand that I’m squeezing the life out of, ‘kay, Kurt?” Rachel asks with a nudge to his bent knee.

Kurt snorts to himself, unclenching the straw between his teeth and wiggling his toes where they’re tucked under Rachel’s leg so she laughs. “Thanks for the warning. Remember the Tonys two years ago when your shoe strap came undone and you drew blood on my arm from clenching too hard?”

“That was once!”

“Twice,” Kurt clarifies. “Last year it was the back of your earring and I had to pull my sleeves down as far as they’d go during my acceptance speech so nobody would see the bruise you squeezed into my wrist.”

“Classic,” Jesse adds with a snort.

“Okay, so I’m violent when I’m nervous, sue me,” Rachel says, smacking both men at her sides. “But seriously, if the florists—”

Kurt tunes her out only partially voluntarily, because his cell phone vibrates in his pocket and the contact that pops up sort of steals all of his attention.

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
Hey. You busy?_

He stares blankly at the phone for a few seconds, wondering why Sebastian’s texting him as if he wants to hang out, when the memory that as of a few days ago, they’re officially _friends_ smacks him over the head and he smiles a bit, looking up at Rachel and Jesse, who are bickering over a cousin who wanted to change her seating arrangement at the last minute.

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
I’m at Rach and Jesse’s but we have no actual plans. Why?_

Much to Kurt’s surprise, the reply is almost instantaneous, as if Sebastian had saved it in his drafts, just waiting to send it once Kurt showed an inkling of interest.

But that would be stupidly optimistic.

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
idk I’m bored. Wanna drag them over to my place and make fun of the Grammys with me?_

Kurt hums under his breath, surveying the couple in front of him before thinking a quick _fuck it_ and answering something noncommittal, just to keep up the suspense.

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
lol, not invited to any big industry parties?_

The next reply isn’t so immediate, which is another point towards Kurt’s theory about the previous message being saved for him.

_**From: Sebastian Smythe**  
I am but the only people I care to hang out with there are Santana and Quinn and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna get drunk and have sex again so……_

Rachel and Jesse are now staring at Kurt, probably because he’s grinning stupidly at the screen of his iPhone, and before either of them can open their mouths, Kurt untucks his feet from beneath Rachel’s leg, stands up, and takes hold of his jacket that had been draped across the back of the couch.

Rachel raises an eyebrow at the sudden movement, closing the seating chart book she’d opened in her lap. “And where are _you_ going?”

“ _We_ ,” Kurt corrects, “are going down the block to watch the Grammys.”

This doesn’t quell the confused expression on Rachel’s face, though her voice does sound rather suspicious. “With?”

Kurt doesn’t even flinch when he answers, “Sebastian, now c’mon,” and grabs the carafe of sangria from the coffee table, hastily popping the lid back on to Jesse’s protests of how long it took him to make and _why do you have to take it in the good carafe, can’t you at least switch to the plastic Kool-Aid pitcher?_

The answer is met with a very expected squeal from Rachel, who throws her arms around Kurt’s neck the moment she stands up, laughing about how he’s “totally gonna get some” in his ear.

_**To: Sebastian Smythe**  
Hahaha, that’s a blind item waiting to happen. Yeah, we’ll be there in a few. :)_

Kurt’s only ever seen Sebastian’s apartment once, before they went to Page Turner, but that was just a quick glance inside the foyer while Sebastian grabbed his keys. Being inside of it is a much different experience. The penthouse is _huge_ —probably three times as big as Kurt’s already decent-sized apartment, with hardwood floors and cream walls, a hallway to the left and a large kitchen connected to the living room to the right.

But what gets him about Sebastian’s place is that, despite the size, it’s so _normal_. Back before he realized that Sebastian is a real, functioning human being complete with a soul and everything, he always figured he’d live in a pretentious, overdecorated-to-the-point-of-gaudiness kind of place, cleaned by a staff of overworked and underpaid maids, but now that he knows him a little better, he thinks this suits Sebastian more. The décor is simple and understated, and there’s a distinct lived-in feel to the place: the living room’s a bit disheveled from use, the kitchen counter is filled with snacks, and there’s still a half-packed suitcase by the door that Kurt recognizes as the one Sebastian had been carrying when he came over to apologize.

The greatest sight of all, though, is Sebastian himself, dressed down in a green hoodie and well-worn jeans, as opposed to his usual tailored clothes, hair down and messy, with his glasses drooping down his nose. He looks comfortable like this, more like himself than he’s ever looked in an expensive suit.

He greets them at the door, dramatically proclaiming them his best friends ever, maybe even Rachel, when Jesse hands over the alcohol. Sebastian shows them to the living room, where the sofa bed’s pulled out for extra leg room in front of the TV, and the four of them end up in some weird, amorphous pile of limbs as Justin Timberlake begins his hosting monologue. They pass the bottle around, making their own drinking game by taking long swigs every time Justin mentions Andy Samberg, ‘N Sync, or starts singing falsetto mid-sentence, until all the wine’s gone and they’re pleasantly warm and tipsy.

Of course, Rachel and Jesse are awfully touchy-feely when they’re drunk, so it only takes a few seconds of the two of them making out before Sebastian’s beating them across the backs with a bag of tortilla chips until they retreat to the loveseat next to the sofa.

“Oops. Should’ve mentioned that they get handsy with each other when they’re drunk,” Kurt chuckles when Sebastian finally settles back down.

“Straight people kissing, my fave,” Sebastian laughs back, stealing a tortilla chip from the bag he’d been using as a weapon.

“You’re just jealous because we’re young, hot, and in love,” Jesse snips back.

Sebastian exaggerates his snort. “Jealousy? Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

Kurt has to actively will himself not to overanalyze the long glance Sebastian gives him then, but it’s hard not to when his heart is hammering in his chest and his wine-addled brain won’t let him think of anything else but the way Sebastian’s tongue flicks out absently to lick across his lower lip.

It’s doubly difficult, too, now that Jesse and Rachel are off of the bed and Sebastian has made no move to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs he and Kurt are still wrapped up in. Kurt’s always been a cuddler, but Sebastian never struck him as one, still doesn’t quite, even though they’re practically laying on top of each other .

Rachel saves the day, finally, when she sits straight up with a manic grin and points eagerly at the TV.

“Blaine!” she shouts excitedly as he situates himself onstage, bashfully smiling while he tunes his guitar. The stage setup is simple: gone are Mercedes Jones’ fabulous backup dancers and the bright lights of the forgettable indie band who performed earlier, now it’s just Blaine, a guitar, and a group of cute little kids tapping cups against the ground to the beat of the song.

“Well this is just _adorable_ ,” Jesse drawls, drooping his head against the armrest and giving Kurt a pointed look. “Isn’t it, Kurt?”

Rachel lands a smack to Jesse’s chest, but Kurt just rolls his eyes.

“Sure, Jess.”

“Don’t start,” Rachel whispers sharply to Jesse, though it’s not so much of a whisper as it is a raspy shout.

Sebastian perks up at that, though, shifting himself so he’s sitting upright and Kurt is blessedly freed of the confusing cuddle-straightjacket. “Wait, what’s this?”

Jesse grins before batting his eyes at Kurt. “You don’t know about Kurtie’s adorable little crush on Hobbit Anderson?”

Kurt swears to himself that he’s making up the distinct tense to Sebastian’s shoulders in his head.

He also swears that one day, he will murder Jesse St. James, and probably frame Rachel for it.

Rachel is landing smacks against Jesse’s chest with varying accuracy when Sebastian finally untenses (he’d only been doing it for a couple of seconds, but it had felt like an eternity to Kurt) and that guarded, mischievous smirk comes back.

“Into bite-sized crooners, are you, Kurt?” Sebastian teases. He rises to stand on his knees on the bed, goaded by Jesse’s mocking fangirl squeals, and dramatically starts singing along with Blaine’s performance on the TV.

“ _It’s time to begiiin, isn’t it?_ ” he belts, and Kurt has to bury his head in his hands to hide his furiously blushing cheeks. “ _I get a little biiit—_ ”

The best way to tune him out is to leave the room altogether, and Kurt drags Rachel behind him on his way into the kitchen, steadfastly ignoring the way Sebastian trails off with his singing and fires a lewd wink in their direction.

“I’m sorry, Kurt, you know Jesse has no sense of shame when he’s drunk,” Rachel rambles in apology before Kurt even has time to give her a proper bitch glare.

“Obviously,” Kurt replies. “I learned that the day I met him on your birthday and he said if he was into guys, he’d _‘certainly be first in line to fuck me.’_ ”

Rachel grimaces. “Yeah, in hindsight, forgetting to mention that the punch at the party was spiked wasn’t my best idea.”

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly, but quickly scowls again. “No, what I’m not getting here is that you tell Jesse _everything_ , yet you seem to have neglected to mention that I kind of have feelings for Sebastian and mentioning my juvenile crush on Blaine isn’t something he should do around him.”

Rachel’s expression switches to a sort of desperate panic. “I don’t know! That was private!”

“So was the time I joined the mile high club, yet he still knew that!”

“Yeah, but that was just _funny_ ,” Rachel reasons with an amused snort.

“Not when he mentioned it at Thanksgiving dinner with our families!”

“Burt didn’t even hear him! Carole and my dads laughed!”

“Rachel, my _grandmother_ was there.”

“…Okay, so that was kind of bad.”

“You are a lost cause, Rachel Berry,” Kurt says with a smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair before leaning over the counter to grab a bag of popcorn and throw it in the microwave. “Whatever, too late to worry now. Let’s just pretend everything is normal and bring this back out there so we don’t look suspicious.”

“I can withhold sex for a week if you want me to punish him,” Rachel comments as the microwave beeps. Kurt just narrows his eyes.

“Rach, you’re marrying him in five days.”

“I know!” she says back, grinning from ear to ear. “I just wanted to hear you say that.”

She still glares at Jesse as they reenter the living room, though it doesn’t last long because the minute she smacks him in the chest again, he catches her fist and they start drunkenly making out again.

“They had better not start fucking on my couch,” Sebastian comments with a grimace as Kurt sits next to him again, carefully avoiding another cuddle session just to keep his feelings at bay.

And of course his effort goes to shit when Sebastian reaches one arm out to grab a handful of popcorn and the other to settle around Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt has half a mind to shift out of the half-embrace or ask what the hell Sebastian thinks he’s doing, but he’s not about to deny himself something that feels so oddly right, so he lets the arm stay there for the rest of the show, the bowl of popcorn settled between them. Jesse and Rachel fall asleep during the closing monologue, and as annoyed as he may be at them, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to wake them when they’ve been losing so much sleep over wedding plans lately.

Sebastian seems to have a similar idea because he smirks at the sleeping couple before reaching for the remote with one hand, keeping the other arm firmly around Kurt’s shoulders as he flips through TV channels. When there’s nothing on, he just turns the TV off and chuckles under his breath.

“Hi,” he says simply, and Kurt laughs as well.

“Uh, hi?”

Sebastian shrugs at the questioning tone. “Tell me something.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“I don’t know. Anything. You, your family, whatever. This is me trying to be one of those people who is actually open with their friends.”

“A valiant effort,” Kurt quips, hiding his touched smile behind a playful smirk. “Uh. My dad’s a congressman, and my stepmom’s a nurse. She married my dad when I was sixteen, eight years after my mom died, and she has a son my age too. Finn’s married to a woman named Hanna who’s much too cute for him, and they have a three-year-old named Kylie, who’s probably going to go nuts when she sees all the pink decorations at the wedding on Thursday.”

“Wait,” Sebastian interrupts. “Rachel invited her ex and his wife to her _wedding_?”

“She invited everyone she’s ever met, basically,” Kurt snorts. “They get along, and Hanna understands Finn’s weird lingering feelings for every woman he’s ever dated.”

Sebastian hums in recognition before smiling softly. “Tell me about your mom.”

“Elizabeth Hummel cannot be described in words,” Kurt replies wistfully. “The greatest woman anyone could’ve ever met. Leukemia’s a bitch.”

When Sebastian’s been staring just a little too long and Kurt can’t hide the emotions in his face from talking about his mom, he clears his throat.

“Ahem. Your turn.”

“Right. Daniel and Valerie Smythe are a couple of hippies who happen to come from wealthy families, so they used their money to save the forests and shit. They live in France now, but they come out here all the time to visit. And my brother Lucas is a journalist who lives with his hot chef boyfriend, Angelo, in Chicago,” Sebastian says. “Unfortunately, I have no backstory that explains why I turned out as such an asshole. My family life is achingly normal.”

“Do they know?”

“About what, our deal?” Sebastian asks, and Kurt nods. “Yeah, I kinda let it slip. Luc and Angelo laughed for about a year, my parents were mildly disappointed in me until they learned it was you.”

“Ooh, look at me,” Kurt snorts. “Already got approval from the parents.”

“Don’t get so cocky, my mom just liked your Link Larkin in Hairspray,” Sebastian counters.

“Whatever. Parents love me,” Kurt laughs, and he’s saved from his urge to lean his head in the crook of Sebastian’s neck when Rachel mumbles sleepily from the loveseat.

“W’sappening? Whr’ami? Jesse?”

Jesse stirs awake at the mention of his name, more alert than his fiancée when he immediately snaps up and asks, “Who won Record of the Year?”

Kurt rolls his eyes at such a ridiculous question. “Obviously the queen herself, Mercedes Jones.”

Jesse grins triumphantly. “Definitely need to get that girl in the play we’re workshopping next month.”

The room falls silent for a bit as Rachel wakes herself up and immediately stands to stretch. “Mmkay, time to go home, Jesse. We have to meet with the florist at eight tomorrow,” she says, and then gives a very obnoxious wink in Kurt’s direction, where he’s beginning to fidget under Sebastian’s arm. “You going home, Kurt?”

Rachel’s voice is dripping with suggestiveness, and Kurt doesn’t even attempt to look at Sebastian to gauge his reaction. God, there’s really not much he’d rather do than stay the night here at Sebastian’s place, to gather up the courage to kiss that freckled face without cameras to capture it, but their friendship is still too new, their flirting too tentative to try and push the limits.

He settles on a simple nod of the head as he stands up and stretches as well. “Yeah. I should probably try to get some sleep because I’m sure you’re going to show up at the apartment at some strange hour of the day to butt into my personal life.”

Rachel bats her eyes innocently. “It’s what best friends do, baby boy.”

“ _Or_ you could stay here and avoid her prying altogether. I have a guest room,” Sebastian offers, and the look in his eyes is so sincere that Kurt considers caving, but no, he can’t. He has to keep his boundaries so he doesn’t get in over his head.

“Thanks, Sebastian, but if I’m not home, Rachel will just break down _your_ door instead,” he answers in a half-truth. “You can help me get Thing One and Thing Two a cab, though, because I am not going to pick them up on the other side of the city at three in the morning because they told the driver the wrong address.”

“We are _not_ that drunk!” Rachel asserts indignantly. They’re not really, and with the nap they’re hardly even bordering on tipsy anymore, but Rachel is too much fun to mock, and maybe Kurt wants to squeeze in an extra minute or two before he has to stay goodbye to Sebastian.

They debate who is Thing One and who’s Thing Two on the elevator ride down—ultimately deciding, much to Jesse’s chagrin, that Rachel is One and he is most definitely Two—and the two of them are shepherded into a cab and sent on their way home. Kurt insists he can walk home, but Sebastian hails him a cab anyway on the grounds of, _“how can you be my fake boyfriend if you get murdered by muggers,”_ even though this is the Upper East Side.

“So,” Sebastian says, leaning against the open door as Kurt stands on the sidewalk, hip against the side of the cab, “see you Valentine’s Day?”

The thought sends the most ridiculous burst of butterflies through Kurt’s chest and stomach, and he has to cough lightly to mask his glee. “Guess so. Any idea what we’re actually doing?”

Sebastian chews his lower lip in thought for a moment before grinning to himself. “You pick dinner, I’ve got the rest.”

Kurt chuckles. “And I get no forewarning for this?”

“Not a chance,” Sebastian replies. He reaches out to nudge Kurt’s shoulder. “C’mon, driver’s waiting.”

At the nudge, Kurt rearranges his coat and scarf and climbs into the cab, but before the door can be shut behind him, he keeps it open with his knee to look up at Sebastian with unguarded affection on his face.

“You know, you’re not _that_ much of an asshole.

Sebastian smiles. “Goodnight, Kurt.”

  


* * *

  


_**Sebastian Smythe** @sebastiansmythe_  
 _Gettin our Grammy cuddle on. @ hummelkurt won’t stop flexing his toes. http://instagram.com/p/yKAJW_  
  
 _9:10 PM - 10 Feb 19_

_**Kurt Hummel** @hummelkurt_  
 _@ sebastiansmythe On my planet, we call this exercise. #nicesocksjerk_  
 _9:14 PM - 10 Feb 19_

_**Sebastian Smythe** @sebastiansmythe_  
 _@ hummelkurt “On my planet”? Is this because you’ve got alien toes?_  
 _9:15 PM - 10 Feb 19_

_**Sebastian Smythe** @sebastiansmythe_  
 _@ hummelkurt PS you are literally laying less than a centimeter from me, why are we tweeting each other_  
 _9:16 PM - 10 Feb 19_

_**Kurt Hummel** @hummelkurt_  
 _@ sebastiansmythe By the way, will you pass me the popcorn?_  
 _9:17 PM - 10 Feb 19_


	7. Chapter 7

For whatever reason, Kurt never expected JFK to be so crowded on the morning of Valentine’s Day, but then again, it isn’t as if he often spends his time at JFK on the morning of Valentine’s Day. Today’s usually a day of either amazing, overly sappy sex or wallowing in self-pity—sometimes both, depending on the occasion—but now he’s sitting on a bench in the terminal, waiting for flight 3822 from Columbus to land, idly scrolling through his phone to kill time. He’s barely even logged on to Twitter since the night of the Grammys, when his mentions filled up with people asking questions that he’s not supposed to answer publicly until the Oscars, though he _did_ have to field a phone call from an excited publicist who happily demanded to know if there was anything Kurt needed to tell her about a certain Instagram post.

Other than that, all’s been quiet on the Sebastian front other than a few random texts here and there, and it’s probably for the best. Kurt’s past the point of denying his attraction to him, but he reasons with himself that the weirdly elevated levels of flirting and longing from the other night were a byproduct of sangria that was a little heavy-handed on the wine and liqueur, as were the feelings of _oh, does he like me back?!_ , as if they were in middle school.

So once he’s greeted his family at the terminal, gotten them safely to their hotel, and had lunch with them, Kurt is going to hang out with Sebastian, and they’re going to have fun, and he’s not going to convince himself that this is anything more than it is.

The announcement that the flight has landed comes over the intercom at precisely the moment Kurt’s phone beeps with a text, distracting him from the barrage of awkward Twitter questions (there are at least three people asking who tops: him or Sebastian, and like, _what_? Is that a thing people ask now?).

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Dinner reservations are at 6:30 but you might want to bring your nice clothes separately. My plans call for cold weather gear._

Kurt rolls his eyes at the phone as he steps closer to the gates.

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_No hints? Have I mentioned lately that you are awful?_

He pockets his phone as people begin to trickle in, and he has half a mind to draw a makeshift sign with the pen in his bag, but there’s no time when he looks up to see his family barreling towards him. Burt immediately grabs him in a bone-crushing hug, excitedly chattering about how good it is to see him and how grown-up he is, though they saw each other not two months ago for Christmas, and Kurt squeezes him right back, burying his face in his father’s neck and letting out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding back. It almost makes him feel younger again, being around his dad all the time and not having to worry about invasive Twitter followers and lurking paparazzi and having stupid crushes on stupid PR boyfriends. After that comes Carole, then Hanna, then a one-armed hug from Finn, who’s toting a sleeping Kylie in his other arm.

“So, hotel, then lunch on me?” Kurt offers.

“Hey, anything you’re paying for, I’m down for,” Finn replies, grinning, and Hanna slaps his stomach. “What, honey? He’s offering free food.”

“You’re an imbecile,” Hanna says fondly, and if Kurt didn’t think they were perfect for each other before, he definitely does now, because if there’s anything Finn needs, it’s the occasional loving smack and insult.

When they reach the baggage claim, Burt cocks an eyebrow and pulls Kurt aside. “No Sebastian? I figured Valentine’s Day would be the best day for, y’know, photo ops.”

And he’d really hoped that being around his family meant taking his mind off of the subject for once, but Kurt figures he can indulge his father. “We’ve got plans tonight,” he says, quietly enough so that nobody else around can hear. “If that’s okay with you guys? I didn’t know if you wanted to hang out tonight, or…”

“Oh, no, no. Finn and Han are going up to the Empire State Building and Carole and I are taking Kylie to a kids’ cooking workshop or somethin’ fancy like that. I was just curious.”

Kurt lets out a little sigh, though the mention of Sebastian reminds him to check his phone, and, lo and behold, there is a text from ten minutes ago waiting in his inbox.

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_That was your hint, dumbass! It’s called a surprise for a reason. I’ll be over at 4 to pick you up btw._

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Ass. See you then._

Kurt desperately tries to quell the highly inconvenient butterflies he gets in his stomach, but he must not be as good of an actor as everyone tells him, because Burt and Carole are both looking at him with a mixture of fondness and confusion.

“Nothing, nothing,” Kurt assures them before they can even ask. “Stupid joke, had to laugh. So, hotel? Rachel and Jesse said you declined their offer to put you up at The Plaza?”

“Kid, we’re from Lima, the nicest hotel within thirty miles is a Holiday Inn. I think this five-star Plaza-Roosevelt-Waldorf Towers mumbo jumbo would overwhelm us all,” Burt laughs. “Now let’s hurry and get checked into the hotel before the little one wakes up.”

Kylie does wake up the minute Hanna straps her into her car seat, but she’s calm for the ride to the hotel, and again for the ride to the diner across from Kurt’s old apartment with what are probably the world’s best Belgian waffles. Lunch is calm as well, and it almost makes Kurt ache for the lunches he’d once had with his family back in Lima, but he knows this is so much better, because despite any romantic hang-ups, this is his _dream_ , and he gets to share his city with the people he loves the most, at least for these couple of hours.

They’re finished with lunch by two o’clock, and he bids goodbye to his family so they can get cleaned up—mostly Kylie, whose cardigan is now covered in sticky syrup—and he can head back to his own apartment to change into warmer clothes and pack up something nice for after whatever the hell Sebastian has planned, and _certainly_ not overthink it.

“You can do this,” Kurt mumbles to himself as 3:55 rolls around. “It’s just Sebastian, you guys are friends, you can totally do this.”

There’s a knock at the door at 3:58 and Kurt waits a beat so he doesn’t appear overeager before answering.

Sebastian is leaning against the doorway, looking just like he did the morning of the Central Park date, yet there’s something different, too. Maybe the smile on his face that’s pleased instead of smug, maybe the way his eyes light up when he gives Kurt the once-over and takes his hand.

And Kurt definitely cannot do this.

Would it be too late to feign sickness? Fake a sprained ankle from sliding on the hardwood floor in his socks earlier? Pretend Burt and Carole got sick and can’t take Kylie to her cooking class? Anything would be better than spending an entire night actively willing himself not to be attracted to Sebastian. He’d even sit through Isabelle’s eventual disappointed rant just to get out of this situation.

“Move yourself, grandma, we’re wasting time,” Sebastian teases as he tugs on Kurt’s hand, and Kurt can’t do anything but laugh and follow along with those fingers laced through his own.

There’s a black car parked on the curb, and Sebastian opens the back door to usher Kurt in despite the confused look on his face.

“You hired a car service?” Kurt asks incredulously as Sebastian slides in next to him, shutting the door behind himself and signaling to the driver that they’re ready to go.

“Of course,” Sebastian answers with a shrug. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you be seen in a nasty, sweaty cab on Valentine’s Day?”

Right when Kurt’s about to snip something about him actually being a real boy and not a soulless robot-man, Sebastian lowers his voice and adds, “It was Emma’s idea.”

“But now I don’t get to conveniently overhear the directions you give the cab driver,” Kurt pouts, and Sebastian stretches an arm around the back of his seat as he laughs. “Your plan had better be good. I’m missing Calvin Klein at Fashion Week for this.”

“You’ll know in, like, five minutes,” he says with a amused roll of the eyes. “So impatient, babe.”

The drive really is only a few minutes, and Sebastian instructs Kurt to leave his bag of extra clothes in the car when they get out at a stop that’s all too familiar.

“Rockefeller Center? I mean, I love Saturday Night Live as much as the next liberal New Yorker, but what exactly are we doing here?”

Sebastian points at a couple passing by with ice skates draped across their shoulders, and Kurt barks out an incredulous laugh.

“I’ll have you know that I am practically a pro ice skater,” Sebastian says haughtily, dragging Kurt by the hand to follow the couple.

  


* * *

  


“You are _terrible_ at this.”

Kurt’s having a hard time stifling his laughter as Sebastian struggles to stay upright on his skates, even with one hand gripping the half-wall surrounding the perimeter of the rink. For someone who was always such a graceful dancer in every play he starred in, Sebastian cannot ice skate to save his life. Even a couple of little girls who can’t be more than ten years old snicker to themselves as they glide past.

“I was an awesome roller skater when I was a kid,” Sebastian reasons with a glare. “How was I supposed to know this was going to be that different?!”

“Uh, because skating on hardwood floors with thick wheels and sliding on frozen water with a thin blade are two very different things?” Kurt laughs, and, when Sebastian stumbles over his own foot, comes closer. “Come here, put your arm around me, I’ll help you out.”

With a shaky hand, Sebastian lets go of the wall and wraps an arm tightly around Kurt’s waist as Kurt does the same, and they lean into each other for support. Kurt isn’t the best skater either, and it’s a little harder with Sebastian’s weight against him, but he manages to guide them around the rink twice before Sebastian finds his footing and decides he’s now stable enough just to hold hands while they skate.

“And with perfect timing, too, here come photographers,” he says in Kurt’s ear. At the far end of the rink, closest to the tables by the concession stand, stand a few men with cameras, trying to look nonchalant as they aim their lenses. Kurt hates them, and he hates the reminder that this is all just a fabrication, but Sebastian’s hand squeezing his works to reassure him, if only just a bit.

“Just ignore them,” he says softly. “I told Em just a few minutes this time.”

It’s hard to ignore them at first, but Kurt soldiers on, firmly gripping Sebastian’s hand while they skate in circles, finally getting the hang of it.

That is, until Sebastian slips and lands flat on his behind in the middle of the rink.

“You oaf!” Kurt giggles as he reaches down to lend a helping hand. Luckily, Sebastian had lost grip of his fingers in the stumble and Kurt remained upright, so he has a chance to laugh instead of be laughed at. “You’re worse than _Finn_ , and that’s saying something. He always ran into the walls at the rink back in Ohio, but never once did he ass-plant. I’m almost impressed by your clumsiness, actually.”

Sebastian’s laughing as well when Kurt pulls him back up to eye level. “Aw, but my ass hurts now. I need kisses,” he pouts, and if it’s kisses he wants, it’s kisses he’ll get, photographers be damned.

Kurt skates forward until his knees knock against Sebastian’s, watching his bitten-red lips for just as long as it takes to cross the distance between them. He braces his arms on Sebastian’s shoulders while Sebastian grabs his waist for balance, and their lips meet gently at first, teasing little pecks, until Kurt sucks Sebastian’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently when he feels the way Sebastian responds to it, humming happily and rolling his hips to get a better body angle so they can kiss deeper. Kurt grabs a small fistful of his hair to tug on, right when he feels a rush of air that must mean—

Yep. They’re falling.

Sebastian hits the ice first, tumbling onto his side, and Kurt lands on his back right next to him, and they’re both laughing too hard to even get pissed at the kids whose lack of attention to where they were going knocked them over in the first place.

“Okay, fuck this shit,” Sebastian snorts as he attempts to stand and brush the shredded ice from his coat and jeans. He takes Kurt’s hand again when they’re standing once more, a reassurance that everything’s not fucked up, and asks, “Hot cocoa?”

Kurt nods. “If we can make it to the snack bar in once piece.”

He insists that the cocoa is his treat, since Sebastian was the one who fell twice and will probably be in much more pain later on, and they sit at the tables behind the area the photographers had been standing in earlier, pressed side to side on one bench.

“So ice skating wasn’t my brightest idea,” Sebastian says, sheepishly staring into his paper cup. “I am not the master of all things. Clearly.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Kurt hums, chewing on his lip, where he can still feel the phantom touch of Sebastian’s. “I didn’t think it was so bad.”

Sebastian looks up at that, surprise coloring his eyes a nearly inhuman shade of green, and he barely has time to set his cup down before he’s tugging Kurt in by the scarf to press another lingering kiss to his mouth.

  


* * *

  


The driver makes a quick stop at Sebastian’s apartment so they can change into clothes more suitable for dinner at a five-star restaurant, and they’re fawned over by the wait staff for all of the meal, which is mildly hilarious if only because the ice skating trip has made everything mildly hilarious. They eat way too much expensive seafood and pastries and wash it down with wine that costs way too much, and they’re still giggling half-drunkenly when the car pulls up in front of Kurt’s building.

“This is me,” he says redundantly, cutting through the laughter. Sebastian hums in thought.

“I could walk you up?”

Kurt nods, accepting Sebastian’s outstretched hand that helps him out of the car, and the doorman from the day of Central Park winks as they step into the lobby all cuddled up.

He dreads the moment of separation, when the happy, hazy bubble of the evening pops and he’s left with the reminder that tonight was essentially another business deal, a method acting job for the two of them, so he prolongs it as much as he can. Sebastian is on the same page, it seems, the way he’s standing in front of where Kurt is leaning against the wall outside of his apartment, bracing himself with one hand planted next to Kurt’s head.

“So,” Kurt says, and that’s all it takes for their mouths to crush together again, more hungrily this time. Sebastian’s knee finds its way between Kurt’s legs, and they’re inching towards the door before Kurt’s mind reminds him that this isn’t the best idea.

“Mmph, mmm, hey, I’ve gotta—” he stammers as he pulls away. “We shouldn’t. I mean—not now. I have to meet Rachel early tomorrow morning for wedding prep, and—”

He stops when Sebastian smiles and darts forward to kiss him briefly. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. It’ll be easier.”

 “Yeah,” Kurt says breathlessly. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven o’clock,” Sebastian confirms, and they share a final kiss before he winks and disappears down the hallway so Kurt can slink back into his apartment and promptly flop face-first on the couch, yet again wondering what the hell he did to get into a situation like this. Like the first day of the arrangement, except now it’s different. Now there’s prospective _feelings_.

Later that night, as he’s right on the edge of sleep, he’ll realize that the kisses in the hallway were the first kisses with no ulterior motives—no photographers, no onlookers, just Kurt and Sebastian—and he’ll bury himself further under the covers, unconsciously dreaming of icy lips and bright green eyes.

  


* * *

  


_Just Jared: Wed, 14 February 2019_  
 **_Kurt Hummel & Sebastian Smythe: Valentine’s Day Fun!_ **

_Spending their Valentine’s Day in Rockefeller Center, **Kurt Hummel** and **Sebastian Smythe** are all smiles. The couple, who have recently been seen out and about New York City, went ice skating and shared a sweet kiss before leaving for a romantic dinner at Le Bernardin._

_Sebastian is currently nominated for an Oscar for his role in_ Kill the Messenger _, and Kurt recently won a Tony for the Broadway musical_ City Limits _._


	8. Chapter 8

Anyone in the world who knows a thing about Rachel Berry could have predicted a pre-wedding freak out, so when Kurt and Sebastian show up to The Plaza to find her looking harried, hair pinned up in curlers and makeup half applied, watching the setup crew like a hawk, they’re immediately in action. Sebastian wordlessly drifts off to find Jesse and assure him everything is going more smoothly than it actually is, and Kurt escorts Rachel back to the suite she’d rented out to get ready in.

They make a pretty efficient team, Kurt thinks to himself on the elevator ride upstairs. They haven’t exactly spoken about the hallway kiss from last night, but this concrete reminder of how smoothly they can work together helps to ground him. The idea that this thing could actually work between them, however far-fetched, seems all the more feasible when these little moments happen.

Jesse and Rachel may be coming out of this night with a spouse, but, if they can work all their shit out, Kurt’s the one who could leave tonight with a boyfriend.

The thought gets him through a slightly awkward conversation with Rachel’s overprotective fathers about the dynamics of her relationship with Jesse, until Shelby, Rachel’s surrogate mother, finishes her hair and makeup and gives her a dramatic entrance fit for a Berry:  presenting her with a drumroll and an extremely long introduction packed with so many adjectives ( _“the ravishing, the talented, the beautiful and cunning and fiery and intelligent and oh-so-wonderful, Mrs. Rachel Berry!”_ ) that it only could have been penned by Rachel herself.

She hasn’t even changed into her wedding dress yet, but even in pajamas, Rachel looks stunning: hair pulled into a waterfall braid that gives way to waist-length ringlets, makeup subtle but playing up her big doe eyes. She’s every bit the Disney princess, and Kurt can’t even hold himself back, leaping up from the couch to catch his best friend in a tight hug once her dads finish fawning over her.

“Rachel Barbra Berry, you are the most beautiful woman alive,” he mumbles against the top of her head before pressing a smacking kiss against her hairline.

“You’re gonna make me cry off all the pretty makeup Shelby put on me, stop it!” Rachel squeals, squeezing her arms around Kurt’s waist. “Dads, Shelby, can I have a minute alone with Kurt?”

Immediately, Kurt’s mind thinks wary thoughts, especially with the way Rachel’s grinning sort of conspiratorially at her family, only increasing when Hiram winks at her and says they’ll go and make sure the bridesmaids are getting ready and whisks LeRoy and Shelby out of the room with him. When they’re all gone and there’s nobody in the suite but Kurt and Rachel, she nudges him back so he’s sitting on the couch again, staring up at her while she paces back and forth like a movie cop during an interrogation.

“So,” Rachel begins, aiming for nonchalant and falling somewhere between desperate and terrifying, “you seem very happy today.”

Kurt curses his pale skin because he just knows he’s blushing down to his toes, but he swallows and forces a collected smile. “My best friends are getting married today, I’m practically over the moon.”

“Well, obviously you’re happy for me, that’s a given, but you’re also the kind of happy you get after you have a really good _daaate_ ,” Rachel sing-songs, and Kurt wants to sink into the floorboards. He can almost see the spiel about 27 Dresses in her eyes, especially now that there’s actual wedding context.

“This is your wedding day, isn’t everything supposed to be about you, the bride, and not me, the man of honor?”

“Everything _is_ about me today, and right now, _I_ want to know how your Valentine’s Day with Sebastian went, so out with it, mister!”

He knows there’s no arguing once she’s started, so Kurt throws his head back against the sofa cushion with a sigh and recounts the night with as much detail as possible. When he’s finished, Rachel screeches and hops into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Kurt!” she gushes. “I mean, I saw the pictures online, but I had no idea those were _real_ kisses! Oh my god, I totally have to rig the bouquet toss. I may not be Sebastian’s biggest fan, but any man who makes you smile like that is total husband material.”

“Can you not?” Kurt whines, but she only grins and kisses his cheek.

  


* * *

  


Rachel keeps Kurt hostage in the suite until the guests start arriving, and he barely has time to say hello to Sebastian before there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder and a tug at his pant leg, two feelings that could only come from Burt Hummel and Kylie Hudson. He bends over to pick Kylie up and place her on his hip before his father is hugging the daylights out of the both of them, much to the toddler’s delight.

“How long have you been here? Rachel’s had me locked up since seven with no human contact,” Kurt rambles excitedly.

Burt shrugs. “Just got here. Carole and Hanna went to the ladies’ room, Finn’s off looking for that Puckerman kid.”

At Kurt’s side, Sebastian lets out a low chuckle. “Rach invited _all_ of her exes, didn’t she? Mr. Hummel! Sebastian Smythe, Kurt’s—”

“Fake boyfriend,” Burt finishes, reaching to shake Sebastian’s outstretched hand a little too firmly, if Sebastian’s slight grimace and Kylie’s subsequent giggle are anything to go by. “You been nice to my boy?”

“Dad!” Kurt scolds under his breath. “He’s been fine, don’t break his fingers.”

Kylie giggles again when Burt and Sebastian draw their hands back, clearly at the stage where she finds humor in the pain and misfortune of others. Such a wonderful age.

“Hey Kylie, this is Sebastian. Can you say hi?”

Kylie gives Sebastian an appraising look, scrunching her little nose up in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of Finn when he’s deep in thought, before she grins and reaches a tiny arm out to poke him in the chest.

“Are you like the crab in the mermaid movie?” she asks with wonder in her big brown eyes.

“Exactly like the crab in the mermaid movie,” Kurt answers with a smirk in Sebastian’s direction. “Hey, why don’t you go with Grandpa to find your mommy and daddy while Uncle Kurt gets ready for the wedding?”

Kylie nods as she’s passed from Kurt’s hip to Burt’s arms.

“You know where you’re sitting, right? Right side, second row, next to Tina and Mike?” Kurt asks, turning to Sebastian without even bothering to hide the affection in his eyes over his niece seemingly liking him. He feels Burt’s confused look more than he actually sees it, so he nudges Sebastian towards the seating area while he retreats back to where Rachel and the bridesmaids are to escape his father’s wary gaze.

He certainly doesn’t miss the _“bye-bye, Crab!”_ that Kylie shouts over Burt’s shoulder at Sebastian.

Back in the foyer, where Rachel is waiting with her dads, Shelby, and the bridesmaids—mostly comprised of Rachel’s cousins and some friends from the city—things are actually relatively serene, much different than Rachel’s near-meltdown from the morning.

She sends Kurt a wink through the mirror she’s fixing her hair in when she catches the flush still high on his cheeks, and he’s only too glad to hear the music starting up in the Terrace Room, giving the wedding party their cue to line up.

He walks with Shelby, the last pair before Rachel and her fathers, and he knows he should probably make more eye contact with the left side of the room, but it’s kind of hard with the way Sebastian is turned in his seat to watch him with that same smile that greeted him last night. At his side, Tina says something to him, making Mike laugh and Sebastian send a wink in Kurt’s direction, and even Blaine’s presence in one of the further rows can’t keep Kurt’s attention away from Sebastian.

“Well, aren’t you two just darling?” Shelby whispers in Kurt’s ear as they turn to stand at the altar, and Kurt doesn’t even bother to reply, too busy biting his lip to hold back the ridiculous smile trying to break through.

The pianist starts playing “Here Comes the Bride” the moment they step up anyway, and all eyes fall on Rachel as she glides down the aisle like royalty. Kurt steals a look at Jesse, whose eyes are threatening to spill over with tears, and his gaze catches Sebastian’s again when he looks back to Rachel.

The wedding is beautiful, and the vows are just as corny as expected from the two, and once they’re pronounced man and wife and everyone’s been dismissed to go to the ballroom for the reception, the toasts begin (and Kurt can’t help but reminisce about the time Jesse got lost on a road trip and Rachel had to navigate home, to his chagrin and her entertainment). Sebastian sits at his side for all of dinner, a warm hand at his side and an amused voice in his ear whenever a particularly uncoordinated member of the Berry or St. James family hits the dance floor.

“I dunno, Hiram’s kinda rocking the Cha-Cha Slide,” he laughs. Turning to Kurt, he offers a hand. “Wanna show him up?”

“I don’t know if you’re ready for these Cha-Cha Slide skills, Smythe,” Kurt chuckles, accepting the hand and lacing their fingers together. They cross the room, but the moment they reach the edge of the floor, there’s the Hummel-Hudson clan, looking as if they’d been waiting for him. Kurt sighs and nudges Sebastian. “Go dance with Tina while I deal with my family?”

Sebastian nods and turns away with a half-smile to the family, and there’s a tense silence while Burt and Finn glare at his retreating form, until Carole rolls her eyes and elbows the two of them.

“Simmer down, boys, you’re probably freaking him out.”

“Yeah, honestly, he’s Kurt’s fake boyfriend, not a mass murderer,” Hanna agrees. “Hi, Kurt, you look amazing, please don’t run off because your dad and brother are being weirdly aggressive right now.”

“He _could_ be a mass murderer,” Finn reasons, whispering the last two words as if the three-year-old in his arms has any idea what that means.

Ignoring Finn’s comment, Burt fixes Kurt with a serious look. “I just want to know how my kid is.”

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly and steps forward to wrap his father in a tight hug. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Promise.”

Burt doesn’t look all that convinced. “And that Smythe kid? He’s being nice?”

“Yes, Dad. We get along, we’re... friends.”

“Friends? Is that why you looked at him the way you used to look at that Adam kid earlier? Just being friendly?”

Kurt flushes, immediately grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to hopefully drown his embarrassment in. “My publicist’s assistant is here, I had to keep the show going. You’ve met her, remember? Tina?”

Burt doesn’t acknowledge it, just continues on. “‘Cause if you _are_ more than friends, you do know that I’m your father and we’re an open family, yeah? I mean, I don’t like this situation that much, but if you like him... I don’t know. I could watch his movie maybe.”

“I still kinda think he could be a murderer,” Finn says with a shrug, his own way of saying he approves.

 “Just friends, Dad.” Kurt rolls his eyes exaggeratedly to dispel any suspicion. “Now can I go rescue him from thinking that you guys want to put a mafia hit out on him?”

“Go ahead, have fun,” Carole confirms, and the knowing tone of her voice says she sees right through him.

Kurt peels away from his family only to run right into someone, nearly tipping his glass of champagne over, but he saves it at the last second so only a bit sloshes onto the floor. As he’s checking his suit for any signs of spillage and halfway through a rambling and profuse apology, he finally spares a glance up from his clothes to see none other than Blaine Anderson grinning at him, cute and pocket-sized as ever.

“Blaine!” Kurt manages to half-splutter. Blaine looks good, despite the fact that he’s obviously more than a little tipsy: suit jacket unbuttoned, tie pulled off and sticking out of his pocket, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and black curls styled neatly around his face.

“Hey!” Blaine says cheerily, reaching out to pull Kurt into a one-armed hug. “Nice to see you, you look great!”

Kurt returns the compliment easily and they small talk for a moment until Kurt spots Rachel across the room, looking much more relaxed than he’d expected her to, dancing with her fathers to whatever song the DJ’s got playing. Blaine follows his line of vision and chuckles at the sigh.

“That girl is a _firecracker_ ,” he says with a smile. Kurt knows that it’s a major understatement, but he nods all the same. “I think I’ve only actually met her twice before today, but I couldn’t turn down the wedding invitation, she’s too much of a character.”

“That’s my best friend for you,” Kurt replies, and he’s pretty sure the champagne takes over his brain after that because it’s the only way he could possibly explain why he turns to Blaine and says, “I’m pretty sure she just invited you so she could try to hook us up.”

Luckily, Blaine doesn’t react too poorly, just laughing to himself a bit, but Kurt doesn’t miss the millisecond of discomfort that crosses his face.

“Trying to get you away from your boyfriend, eh?” Blaine nods over to the bar, where Sebastian is sitting with Tina and Mike, his gaze lingering on Kurt with an indecipherable expression. “Should I be afraid? He’s kinda staring daggers.”

“No, no, he’s just... I don’t know. He’s weird.” It isn’t a lie, though Kurt’s sort of starting to find that he’s kind of okay with weird. Weird is interesting. Weird brings out his sassy side. He can deal with weird.

“No worries, I wouldn’t think to come between ya,” Blaine says playfully. “Besides, I’m already—”

Blaine trails off as soon as Kurt’s sure the word “taken” is about to come out of his mouth, eyes trained on the opposite end of the bar as Sebastian, Tina, and Mike, where a blonde boy with pouty lips—one of Jesse’s L.A. musician friends, Sam—is watching him the same way Sebastian was, and still is, watching Kurt. Blaine’s cheeks are flushed a bright pink when he looks at Kurt again.

“Never mind, I should go!” he rambles, stumbling forward to hug Kurt again. “Awesome seeing you, good luck with Sebastian!”

As Blaine leaves to meet Sam at the bar, glancing around to make sure nobody’s watching before stepping in between his legs and planting a kiss on his lips, Kurt is hit over the head with the realization that he’s not even upset. If someone would’ve told him a month back that he found out Blaine was dating someone else at Rachel and Jesse’s wedding, he would’ve been devastated, probably, but now he’s actually at peace with it—happy for them even, as Sam loops his arms around Blaine’s waist and Blaine glances down at him with a look that says _you might just be the one I come out to the public for_.

Kurt startles when a familiar pair of arms slip around his own waist and a voice murmurs in his ear, “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Someone’s chipper,” Kurt hums in reply, swaying his and Sebastian’s bodies to the rhythm of the slower song now flooding through the room.

“Actually, someone needed to get away from Rachel’s cousin who couldn’t take the hint that I’m gay, no matter how many times Mike tried to break it to her gently. Dance with me?”

“I guess I do owe you one, huh?”

“You do,” Sebastian agrees. He unfurls his arms from Kurt’s waist, instead reaching to thread their fingers together so he can drag Kurt through the couples on the dance floor, stopping right in the middle where everyone else seems to be orbiting around them. Tentative hands come to rest on Kurt’s hips, and Kurt pulls Sebastian closer with his arms looped around his neck and they dance, foreheads tipped together, no rhyme or reason to their movements, just steps and sways and spins.

The song grows quiet near the end, and Kurt expects Sebastian to pull back, but he’s quickly learning that Sebastian Smythe cannot always be predicted. As the last line is sung over the speakers, there are soft lips against Kurt’s, and the intoxicating taste of red velvet cake mixed with sweet champagne and something else, something warm and smooth and unmistakably Sebastian, sends a jolt through his body.

The faster tempo of the next song pulls them from their trance, leads them off of the dance floor and back between tables so they can survey the room, still clinging to each other. Jesse and Rachel don’t seem to realize that the slow song’s over, still pressed closely together with blissful smiles on their faces. Hanna has managed to get Finn onto the floor, and they’re taking turns spinning Kylie between them as the little girl shrieks in delight. And out of the corner of his eye, he catches Blaine and Sam tipsily shimmying together by the bar, whispering in each other’s ears before throwing their heads back in laughter. It’s oddly intimate, catching these honest little glimpses of his friends’ love lives, and Kurt idly wonders what he and Sebastian look like to everyone else, if they can see the façade or if they’re coming off genuine. If this moment is genuine at all.

Sebastian’s lips gently touch Kurt’s temple and he smirks at the contact, tightening his fingers on Sebastian’s arm.

“Come with me?” Sebastian whispers, and fuck it, Kurt thinks he’d probably go anywhere Sebastian asked him to.

Their hands entwine again and they slip through the crowd in the ballroom, greeting the people they pass with polite, eager smiles until they finally reach the exit and step into the lobby, and Kurt has half a mind to tell his family that he’s leaving, but he’s immediately nudged against the wall, Sebastian’s mouth finding his in a kiss that’s much more hungry than the one on the dance floor. It takes him by surprise, but he quickly melts into the touch, lips and tongue eager to reciprocate.

When Sebastian pulls away, there is so much unabashed _want_ in his eyes that Kurt doesn’t even know what to do with it, hands gently squeezing Sebastian’s hips in a question.

“Do you want this, Kurt?” Sebastian asks, voice husky and wrecked, and Kurt manages to nod with the millions of thoughts racing around his head. “Because if you don’t, you know you can—”

Kurt cuts him off with a hard, brief kiss. “Sebastian. I want this, I want—” He stops himself before the premature _I want you_ can come out of his mouth. “I want this. Do you?”

Now Sebastian’s the one nodding, eyes wide and dark, following Kurt’s hand as it reaches down into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Good, because I happen to have the keycard to the bridesmaids’ prep suite that I know for a _fact_ is going to remain unoccupied for the rest of the night.”

The words are barely out of Kurt’s mouth before they’re rushing to the elevator, past suspicious bellboys and an amused concierge. They kiss, sloppy and tipsy and happy, all the way up, and barely stop for long enough to unlock the suite and shed their clothes before they’re at it again, trying to navigate to the bed without separating but ultimately tripping over a chair and falling backwards into the wall before collapsing into laughter, realizing it wasn’t their best idea and walking the rest of the way. Sebastian nudges Kurt down first, quickly climbing on top of him and pressing kisses to every inch of skin he can get his mouth on—lips, chin, neck, chest, stomach—and sucking harder the lower his mouth travels.

“Can I?” he asks with obvious intent from between Kurt’s thighs. The feel of his warm breath against the skin makes Kurt’s cock twitch against his hip, and he whispers a croaky “yes, please” before Sebastian’s lips curl into a pleased smile.

Kurt’s had his fair share of blowjobs in the past, from boyfriends and flings and hookups alike, but he can’t remember a time he felt as blissed out as he does now. Most guys he’s been with have been pretty decent at giving head (if you don’t count his high school boyfriend, Chandler, who absolutely refused to give any more blowjobs after discovering he was shit at them), but Sebastian just may be topping that list right now. He’d wasted no time taking Kurt fully into his mouth, and every time his cock brushes the back of Sebastian’s throat and he hums contentedly around it instead of gagging, Kurt swears he could come on the spot, but he keeps the feeling at bay with his hands balled into fists, desperately clinging to the sheets to release some of the sheer euphoric energy pent up inside of him.

The familiar feeling—warmth and tingling and pure, indescribable pleasure—starts in the pit of Kurt’s stomach, climbing up until his body starts to lose control of itself. Sebastian takes it like a champ, only coughing slightly when Kurt’s hips buck up, then soothing him with a few light strokes of fingers across the soft skin and jutting bone of his hips. It doesn’t take long after that for Kurt to mumble, almost incoherently, “ _Bastian_ —m’gonna—” as a warning, but Sebastian’s eyes only darken as he sucks harder, working Kurt through his orgasm and swallowing heavily when he pulls off.

Kurt doesn’t even know how long it is until he comes down from his high, sights and sounds coming back to him one by one until he’s just left panting and fully aware of the man hovering over his body, nipping and sucking a line up the side of his throat. Kurt threads his fingers through the mess of hair at the back of Sebastian’s head and pulls him up so their mouths align and they kiss feverishly until Kurt suddenly becomes aware of Sebastian’s straining erection against his hip.

“C’mere,” Kurt breathes as he runs a hand down Sebastian’s side and follows the fingertip trail with his mouth. His mind is still fuzzy, but he knows he wants this, wants to make him feel good, wants to watch Sebastian fall apart the way he just had.

He’s busy tracing the V of Sebastian’s hips with his tongue when a hand curls into the back of his head, pulling him up so his gaze meets Sebastian’s.

“Easy, tiger,” Sebastian whispers, and Kurt’s beginning to fear that he’s terrible or something until Sebastian’s hands travel south, roaming over Kurt’s ass before catching one palm and guiding it to curl around his dick. “Want you to watch me come.”

Kurt pictures it: the arch of Sebastian’s back, the keening of his neck, the noises spilling from his lips, all from his hand on Sebastian’s cock, and he surges forward to kiss him once more as his hand begins to jerk in earnest.

And any noises he’d imagined in his head are infinitely better actually coming from Sebastian’s mouth. He’s already hard to the point of leaking when Kurt swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, swallowing the low moan that comes from Sebastian’s throat, and it doesn’t take long at all before his body is writhing beneath Kurt’s touch, and he’s coming with a strangled shout all over Kurt’s fist and both of their stomachs.

“Jesus Christ,” Sebastian murmurs into the air between them once he’s come down. “I’m turning twenty-five in a week and I feel like a fucking teenager.”

“Yeah? Stamina and all?” Kurt says playfully, grabbing a handful of tissues from the bedside table and drying off the mess. He crawls up so his lips brush the shell of Sebastian’s ear and whispers, voice still wrecked, “‘Cause maybe if you run to the groomsmen’s suite and get a condom, I’ll let you fuck me.”

It’s almost hilarious how quickly Sebastian jumps up to find his clothes after that, ending up in his own boxer-briefs and Kurt’s too-small shirt for the walk of shame down the hallway, but before he reaches the door, he rushes back to the bed to crush his lips messily against Kurt’s.

“You’re a goddamned wonder, you know that?”

Kurt preens at the compliment, but he shoos Sebastian away with a slap of the ass anyway. “Condom. Now.”

  


* * *

  


**_To: Dad_ **  
_Had some business to take care of, sorry for ducking out so early. :(_  
 _Call me in the morning and we’ll all have brunch!_

**_From: Dad_ **  
_“business” ok......_

**_To: Dad_ **  
_Oh my god Dad please don’t think these things_

**_From: Dad_ **  
_wat things?? no things_  
 _see u 2morrow bud_


	9. Chapter 9

It’s not the perfect fairytale morning. When he wakes up, Kurt isn’t greeted by the bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows or the sweet twittering of the birds in the trees. He’s not surrounded by adorable cartoon critters, and there’s no grand musical number to burst into.

For starters, the curtains are fully drawn, and even if they weren’t, it’s raining outside anyway. The mere thought of birds happily tweeting away in the heart of the city, especially in this weather, is laughable, and Kurt’s pretty sure the dryness of his mouth is not very conducive to a good musical number.

But he’s content—dare he say it,  _happy_.

Sebastian is still asleep when he wakes, mouth closed into that ever-present soft smirk, and Kurt has to hold himself back from snorting in laughter over the fact that Sebastian even smirks in his  _sleep_. But he’s cute when he sleeps, and kind of a snuggler, if the way his arm is curled around Kurt’s waist and their legs are tangled are any indicators, and it’s cold in the room, so Kurt can maybe appreciate it. His cheek is pressed against Sebastian’s chest, fingers trailing up and down the smooth skin, circling around dark freckles, and he dares to press a dry kiss to his collarbone as Sebastian stirs awake under the touch.

“Mm?” he mumbles groggily, reaching a hand out to rub at his eyes. When his focus seems to have returned, he gives Kurt a small smile. “Morning. How long have you been up?”

Kurt shrugs, walking his fingers up and down the space between two freckles. “Not long. You snore.”

“Do  _not_ ,” Sebastian insists as if he’s morally offended. He doesn’t, actually, but riling him up is just too fun.

“Do so. Like a motorboat, it’s distressing, really.”

“Shut up.”

“I actually considered getting up to shove toilet paper in your nose, but you also had me in a sort of cuddle death grip.”

Sebastian doesn’t whine this time, just pulls Kurt further into his arms and presses their lips together in a messy kiss, fingers trailing down Kurt’s spine until they’re digging lightly into the material of his briefs.

“Ugh,” Kurt mumbles between kisses. “Your breath tastes awful.”

“Don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs back, but Kurt nudges his chest.

“Seriously, I’m not gonna make out with you when we’ve both got terrible morning breath. Come on, there’s complimentary toothpaste and brushes in the bathroom.”

Sebastian groans, but he eventually does accept Kurt’s hand to help him up, following him with insistent presses of his warm fingers to the bare skin of Kurt’s back, and Kurt finally,  _finally_  doesn’t deny the shivers racing across his skin at the touch, pushing himself into the sensation until they reach the suite bathroom.

It’s strangely domestic, sitting on the counter while Sebastian leans against it, brushing their teeth together with his knees brushing intermittently against Sebastian’s golden stomach, but Kurt finds that it’s not too awkward. Maybe pretending to be a real couple has prepared them for actual coupley things.

Which makes Kurt’s mind wander and question what the last two nights mean for their situation. He’s not one to automatically equate sex with relationships—he’s not the same kid he was in high school—but romantic nights out and slow-dancing in front of his parents and snuggling together in the morning after giving each other multiple orgasms aren’t exactly things that people who supposedly dislike each other do. So when their teeth are brushed and Sebastian is standing between Kurt’s legs where he’s still seated on the counter, lips brushing the curve of his jaw, he has to pull him back so there is the barest amount of space between their mouths.

“Hey,” he whispers, and Sebastian returns a quiet, “Hi,” sealed with a kiss.

“Can we talk?”

Sebastian’s hands tense on Kurt’s knees, but he takes a minute to breathe in deeply before he nods.

Kurt’s heart is hammering in his chest, and every bit of skin touching skin threatens to drive him mad, but he takes a deep breath as well. “Just... about last night.”

The hands on his legs loosen then, and there’s a pleasant feeling that replaces the nerves as Sebastian leans into Kurt again, nipping at his jawline and smoothing his thumbs across his kneecaps.

“Last night,” he murmurs, “was fucking awesome, babe. You’re so fucking responsive, I—”

The only way to shut him up is to kiss him again, which Kurt is only too okay with, and, if the laughing grin on his face when they pull away is anything to go by, as is Sebastian.

“Kurt. Last night was a hell of a lot of fun. I mean, I know I’m not your little Blainey,” Sebastian says with a lewd smirk, “but can he make you beg the way I did?”

It’s probably supposed to come off of as sexy and flirtatious, but any butterflies that were in Kurt’s stomach before have probably died on impact from his heart sinking into it.

“What?” he asks in a small voice, steadfastly ignoring any eye contact.

“Oh, c’mon, your crush on little Blanderson is out in the open now, and you can do  _so_  much better,” Sebastian purrs, and he’s just  _not fucking getting it_. Somehow he still thinks this is time for being coy and flirtatious like last night, unaware of how his words are affecting Kurt until he pulls completely out of reach of Sebastian’s mouth and stands back on the floor, giving him an incredulous expression.

“Seriously?” Kurt asks, and when Sebastian only looks confused, he huffs out an irritated breath. “You had sex with me for some stupid show of power? Just to prove you’re better than Blaine?”

“How is that even—” Sebastian begins, but he cuts himself off and knits his eyebrows together in frustration before sighing and trying again. “It wasn’t a power thing, what the hell? I didn’t mean—”

“I was  _trying_  to talk about what the last two days mean for us and you suddenly start talking about how you can make me beg more than Blaine ever could? Seems like a weird, possessive power thing to me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian snaps. “Maybe it was. But don’t act blameless here, it’s not like you two weren’t making googly eyes at each other when you left your parents last night, and we had to keep up the charade for Tina and—Wait, discuss the last two days?”

His eyes are glazed, mouth open just a bit, and Kurt can see the way Sebastian’s rigid posture has gone lax with something akin to hope, but he can’t give in, not with this Blaine thing hanging between them.

“Yes, the last two days. Y’know, how we made out several times without cameras, and you tried to impress my family by being polite for a change, and—oh yeah—the fact that we had sex last night?” Kurt fumes. “But you’re too fixated on being better than Blaine, who, if you were even paying attention yesterday, went straight from  _platonically_  talking to me, to kissing his  _boyfriend_.”

Sebastian just stands there, chest heaving like he’s short of breath, staring like he’s lost.

“Kurt,” he begins, voice gentle, “it’s just that I—”

And Kurt can’t bear to hear the words Sebastian’s stopped himself from saying, not now when his not-fairytale morning has become even less of a fairytale. He shakes his head and turns his back, heading for the main room, where his clothes are still discarded, ignoring the way Sebastian’s  padded footsteps follow him.

“Look, Kurt, I’m sorry,” Sebastian says, all big eyes and broken voice. “I was being a dick, like usual. I didn’t mean it.”

The worst thing is that Kurt knows, he  _knows_ , but he still can’t stay here deluding himself when he’s feeling this conflicted and generally awful.

“I know,” he says softly once he’s got himself half-dressed. He steps closer to Sebastian, touching his arm with the barest stroke of his fingers. “But we’ve spent so much time together lately that I think I’m starting to blur lines in my head. We need time apart.”

Sebastian nods like he understands, feebly grabbing for his own clothes as Kurt finishes buttoning his shirt.

“See you at the Oscars?” Kurt tries, and when he only gets a grunt back in reply, he sighs. “Keycard’s on the table by the door, checkout’s at noon.”

Never in Kurt’s life has a walk of shame felt so shameful. He feels dirty: not just because most of the time in the shower last night was spent being fucked against the wall, but because he’s never left someone after a one-night stand feeling like such a complete asshole. He knew Sebastian was sorry, that yes, maybe he was being possessive, but it probably came more from a place of affection than power, but he still couldn’t stand in that room for any longer without feeling the damning realization that he’s let himself get too far into this too fast, even if Sebastian didn’t seem to agree with the solution.

And maybe Kurt is right. Maybe the only reason he feels anything romantic for Sebastian is because they’ve hardly been apart for more than a few days lately, and the proximity is starting to get to them, like some sort of weird Stockholm syndrome thing. He’d wondered it before, if this was all some sort of exercise in character bleed, and if anything, more than a week apart, half of which Sebastian will be in L.A. for, will prove whether he was right or wrong.

Kurt’s just barely gotten into his apartment and out of the rain when his phone starts ringing in his pocket, and he sighs to himself, hoping and praying it’s not Sebastian looking to talk it over, because it took a hell of a lot of guts to leave the first time, and he doesn’t know if he could do it again.

Luckily, it’s just Burt, confirming their brunch plans for noon, and Kurt’s only too eager to accept, to be with his family and get his mind off of things all at once.

They’re to meet at the cafe by the apartment, and Kurt’s glad he’s early, even after a quick shower and change of clothes, so he can answer Brittany’s inevitable, “Where’s your boyfriend?” without his father around.

“We got in a, uh, fight,” he tells in a half-truth as he drops his coat and bag at the largest table by the window. “So if you could not speak of it while my family’s here?”

Brittany nods and mimes locking her lips up. “My lips are sealed. Complimentary I’m-in-a-fight-with-my-boyfriend cupcake?”

Kurt laughs to himself as she reaches into the display case and picks out a red velvet cupcake with far too much frosting, offering it on a napkin with a sympathetic smile.

“ _Love youuu_ ,” he sing-songs as the bells over the door chime and the Hummel-Hudsons step inside. Kurt ushers them to the saved table, and Brittany repeats her locked-lips motion with a wink as she starts up the next customer’s mocha.

“So how was your morning?” Burt says suspiciously in lieu of any normal greeting, and Kurt simultaneously wants to hug and clobber him.

Carole adds, “Sebastian didn’t come along?”

“Uh, he’s flying out to L.A. later,” which isn’t a total lie, except by  _later_ , Kurt means Sunday night. “Besides, we don’t have to be attached at the hip at all times. And my morning was fine.”

Maybe if he keeps saying it, he’ll feel like it’s true.

Burt just shrugs and looks at the menu on the table as the other barista on duty, Kitty, as her nametag says in swirling handwriting, steps up to take their orders.

Kylie squirms in her booster seat as she excitedly declares she wants “unbirthday cake” for breakfast, and poor Kitty tries to explain that they’ve only got cupcakes and coffee cake until Kurt whispers to her side, “Just bring a candle, I’ve got you covered.”

“I’m sorry, she’s in an Alice in Wonderland phase right now,” Hanna explains with a sigh. “If she’s not declaring every day is her unbirthday, she’s shouting ‘off with their heads!’ and trying to paint things red with crayons.”

“On the other hand, she’s great at identifying colors,” Finn adds almost proudly, still somehow managing to sound like his dopey high school self when he’s in daddy mode.

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly as Kitty starts bringing over pastries and coffee. He extends his free pity cupcake to Kylie, and accepts the candle and matchstick Kitty hands him, sending the table into a rousing rendition of the Unbirthday Song, which Kylie hoots and hollers and claps all throughout.

It almost helps take Kurt’s mind off of everything, but of course, the moment he sips his vanilla latte, it’s like his sense memory is overloaded with thoughts of almost-dates and apologies in his apartment, and he reaches for the cinnamon shaker and shakes enough in his drink so that the flavor’s almost completely masked, even if it’s sort of disgusting now.

When he’s been quiet for too long, watching his family banter, he feels a soft hand covering his elbow. When he glances up, his eyes meet Carole’s.

“You alright, sweetie?” she asks, frowning slightly.

“Fine,” Kurt says low enough so he can’t be heard over Finn talking about one of his students who can’t seem to understand the concept of duets.

“You sure?” Carole presses. “You’re never this quiet during family visits, and you seemed pretty lively yesterday.”

Kurt leans over to press a tiny peck to his stepmom’s cheek. He thinks up a quick lie when he pulls back. “I’m just waiting for confirmation from Rachel and Jesse that their flight landed safely, that’s all.”

Carole clearly doesn’t believe him, but she affectionately squeezes his elbow all the same.

They stay in the cafe until they’re all finished eating and Burt notes that they have a flight to catch in an hour, so Kurt accompanies them to the airport for goodbyes and promises that he’ll fly out in April for Kylie’s actual birthday. When the boarding call rings throughout the terminal, Burt hugs him close.

“You take care of yourself, alright?”

It takes too much effort not to cry when his dad is squeezing him like this, so Kurt lets a few tears slip down his cheeks, for his family and for his wreck of a morning. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, kid,” Burt replies firmly, giving a final squeeze before collecting his carryon bag and heading over to board.

Kurt stays in the airport until the plane takes off, then walks outside where, appropriately, it’s still raining, and lets the water wash over him until he’s drenched to the bone. He hails a cab, probably irritating the driver when he drips all over the seat, and silently wishes for all the rainclouds to go away.


	10. Chapter 10

In hindsight, getting into a disagreement with Sebastian on the same day Rachel was leaving for a month in a completely different time zone so he couldn’t vent to her wasn’t exactly the best thing for Kurt to do.

He spends the first two days after the wedding moping again, because he’s a human being and sometimes he just needs time to feel sorry for himself. He watches more trashy reality TV than he should, spends too much time looking up cat videos on YouTube, and eats like shit, but it almost feels good to be lazy and not care about the outside world.

The third and fourth days are more productive. Kurt cleans his apartment from the inside out, goes to Whole Foods to buy something other than junk food, and actually makes a conscious effort to eat healthy and work out every day (if by ‘working out,’ he means watching Jane Fonda workout tapes during dinner, nobody else has to know). Isabelle even emails him audition information for a few summer musicals, all of which sound incredibly dull, but he still jots down the information and pins it to the corkboard by his computer desk for future reference.

By day five, he’s so bored out of his mind that he’s actually considering the key to Rachel and Jesse’s apartment that’s hung on the hook next to the front door, ready to take advantage of the indoor pool in their building because he’ll be damned if Jane Fonda’s arms didn’t look amazing in those videos, but the TV humming in the background catches him off guard. He’d had it on E! as background noise, and now an episode of E! News has started up, and of course, whose face lights up his screen but Sebastian’s, looking stupidly wonderful as he signs autographs outside of the restaurant his management agency had been holding their annual dinner party at.

If he ever thought time apart would disprove the whole “distance makes the heart grow fonder” theory, he was dead wrong. Every time the image of Sebastian on the screen grins at another fan, wrapping an arm around their shoulders and smiling goofily into their camera phone, Kurt’s heart lurches, remembering those fingers entwined with his, that arm around his waist, that dopey too-big smile aimed at him.

There are two days until his flight to L.A., and he’s sort of stuck on what the hell is going to happen.

There’s the ideal situation, one that Kurt has probably spent more time than he should mapping out the details of: he lands in Los Angeles and is immediately swept off his feet at the airport by Sebastian. Apologies are made on both ends, fences are mended, awesome five-star hotel birthday sex is had, and the Oscars are a night of celebration for them: for Sebastian’s win and the start of their budding relationship.

Or there’s the worst case scenario: Kurt lands in L.A. all alone, is hounded by paparazzi, and the Oscars are spent trying not to feel as awkward around Sebastian as he would be if things between them stayed as they are now. Win or lose, Sebastian decides the end of the arrangement means the end of whatever this thing is between them, and Kurt returns to New York feeling even more screwed up on the inside than he currently does.

Kurt slumps against the kitchen counter, all devious thoughts of taking advantage of the pool lost in a sea of hypothetical situations, and he’s contemplating ruining his two days of healthy living by ordering in and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race all night when the phone starts to ring.

He doesn’t know why he’s started half-hoping it’s Sebastian whenever the phone starts to go off, because he’s always disappointed when it never is him, but Kurt’s disappointment lessens when he sees the number of Rachel and Jesse’s hotel flash on his caller ID.

“Isn’t it eleven o’clock in Italy?” he answers instead of saying hello.

“Hi to you too, Kurt,” Rachel chuckles on the other end. “It is, and we’re going to bed soon because tomorrow we fly to Venice, but my best friend telepathy told me I should call you.”

“She actually just noticed that you haven’t been on Twitter since before the wedding and decided that was reason enough to pry,” Jesse adds.

“Am I on speaker phone?” Kurt wonders aloud, laughing when Rachel sputters in response.

“I’m painting my nails, I can’t be expected to hold a phone!” she whines. “And don’t doubt my telepathy, Jesse, I am never wrong about these things. Vent to me, Kurt.”

“Let’s not and say I did,” he groans.

“It’s about Sebastian, isn’t it?” Jesse asks. “He’s been even weirder on Twitter, like who the hell posts Bright Eyes videos without explanation for the whole world to see unless they’re a teenage boy getting his heart broken for the first time?”

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Kurt groans, rubbing at his temples to preemptively ward off the headache he knows this conversation is going to give him. “Yes, it’s about Sebastian, you creepy Twitter stalkers.”

“What about him? You seemed really friendly at the wedding whenever I saw you.” Kurt can picture Rachel’s puppy-dog pout almost perfectly.

“It’s just... feelings, y’know?”

“Well _yeah_ , you already mentioned those forever and a day ago,” Rachel notes, her voice sounding more confused than curious now.

Oh, this is going to be a fun story to tell.

“Forever and a day ago, those feelings were some weird form of character bleed, now those feelings have been confirmed by, y’know... _physical evidence_.”

He tried to phrase it as delicately as he could, but Kurt’s ears are still filled with Rachel’s shrill “ _What_?! Kurt Hummel, explain yourself!”

Kurt sighs and barrels into the story: the dancing, the kiss, the night in the hotel (which he skimps on the specifics of, to the relief of all three participants in the phone call), and the morning after, up to today, and the scenarios bouncing through his mind.

“Kurt,” Rachel says, her voice now soothing. “You’re an idiot and I love you, you do know that, right? You two have got to fix this mess, I’m too new to wanting the two of you to be together to have you two get in arguments every other week. I already watch too much TV!”

A broken laugh startles itself out of Kurt’s throat, and if Rachel wasn’t all the way in Italy, he’d hug the living daylights out of her.

“Fine, fine, we will. I leave tomorrow afternoon for L.A. anyway, we’ll have a couple of days then.”

“Not exactly. He’s due in Seattle the day after the Oscars,” Jesse adds.

It’s the first time Kurt’s heard of this, as far as he can remember. He tries to wrack his brain for any mentions of a random trip to Seattle in Sebastian’s future, but he can’t remember any for the life of him, so he just asks, “Huh?”

“Damn, when you shun the world, you really do shun the world,” Jesse chuckles. “Hunter Clarington dropped out of the new Artie Abrams movie on Friday, and by Saturday, they cast Sebastian in his place, it was all over the news. He flies out to Washington on Monday morning for prep and early filming.”

Now that he’s thinking about it, the E! News anchor did mention something about a new project when the video of him was lighting up the screen, and now all that Kurt’s getting out of this is that there’s a time limit to their reconciliation. Not that he wouldn’t be quick to mend things between them given the chance, but he’d kind of prefer a little more time around Sebastian to ease back into their usual routine. Only two days together sort of puts a damper on that.

“Ugh. I’ll see what I can do then,” Kurt sighs, slumping even further down the counter. “You two go to bed, have fun, don’t come home pregnant, et cetera.”

“Night, Kurt!” Rachel laughs. “And you should know by now that I don’t intend on having children until I’m thirty and I stop getting cast as young characters.”

The amused eye roll is almost audible in Jesse’s voice. “Goodnight, Kurt.”

And so the last night of Kurt’s self-imposed isolation is spent packing and preparing himself for what’s to come.

He wakes on Saturday morning to an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, and when he looks at the phone, Kurt can’t help but put aside his nerves for a moment to laugh to himself. Clearly Sebastian had gotten to his phone during one of the times they’d hung out, because the screen is lit up with an alarm titled _SEBASTIAN’S BIRTHDAY!!!_

It’s as good an excuse as any to break the ice, so Kurt fires off a quick text.

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Happy birthday! See you soon. :)_

After that, it’s a rush to get ready, finish packing up a few last-minute items, and get to the airport.

Kurt checks his phone right as the boarding call comes, and there’s no reply from Sebastian, but he doesn’t worry. It’s still early in California, and Sebastian is probably flooded with happy birthday texts anyway.

He doesn’t even think too much of it when he checks his phone again once he touches down at LAX only to see a picture message from Finn, showing off his apparent newfound ability to (terribly) braid his daughter’s hair. Kurt collects his bags from the baggage claim and gets a cab to his hotel, avoiding scattered photographers on the way, and doesn’t think of the fact that this is one thing missing from his ideal scenario for today.

Los Angeles traffic is ridiculous, as was expected, so he busies himself on his phone for the ride. Rachel’s posted about a million photos of the Grand Canal on Twitter, but it’s one little tweet tucked in between the photos that catches his eye.

**_Sebastian Smythe_ ** _@sebastiansmythe_  
 _Thanks for the bday wishes everyone! Celebrating at the Independent Spirit Awards with m’lady @ qfabray #beprepaaared_  
 _2:21 PM - 23 Feb 19_

It should mean nothing to Kurt. Sebastian has fans that have probably been sending him love all day long, and he’s appeasing them all with the message, but it’s not even that fact that’s bothering Kurt. For some reason, he can’t help but notice that Sebastian’s clearly had his phone—and, if the SAG’s are anything to go by, is not above texting during awards ceremonies—and hasn’t replied to him.

Logically, he knows it was just a generic birthday text, something easily passed over, but he thinks, if the tables were turned and Sebastian had texted him when they were on shaky terms, Kurt would have replied the second he saw it.

But he and Sebastian are different people who react to things differently and may even be on completely different pages about where they stand currently, so he shrugs it off as the cab finally pulls up to the Beverly Hills Hotel.

When he checks into his room, Kurt definitely doesn’t think that today is turning out to be more like his worst case scenario than anything else.

  


* * *

  


**_E! News: Kurt Hummel Suspiciously Lands in Los Angeles the Day Before the Oscars_ **  
_Sat., Feb. 23, 2019, 9:00 PM PST_

_Will **Kurt Hummel** show up to Sunday’s Academy Awards to support rumored boyfriend **Sebastian Smythe**?_

_Hummel was snapped arriving at JFK this morning looking adorably sleepy, and after landing at LAX in the afternoon, tweeted, “Why is it warm in LA?! I’m a New Yorker, I need my cold weather. :(“, fueling rumors that the actor is in town to attend the Oscars with Best Actor nominee, Smythe._

_The pair have been alleged to be dating since mid-January, and have since been spotted getting romantic all throughout NYC, but both men have kept quiet about it. When asked about the relationship at tonight’s Independent Spirit Awards, Sebastian, who has just been announced as the lead in Artie Abrams’ next film, kept coy, answering with a cheeky, “Aw, but telling you would ruin all the fun!”_

_But with this new development, let Kurtbastian Watch begin!_


	11. Chapter 11

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **   
_Hey. Mind if I stop by your hotel around noon?_

The last thing Kurt expects to wake up to is a text from Sebastian, and when he does, he’s kind of lost on how to react. It’s a few minutes before his scheduled wake-up call from the front desk, so he’s still a little groggy and blinks down at the phone for a couple of minutes as he processes the message.

He’s not entirely sure why Sebastian wants to see him, and he can try to be as hopeful as he wants, but after the lack of contact yesterday, Kurt is seriously doubting his initial theory that the feelings between them are mutual. Sebastian is Sebastian, and the night of the wedding is what he does: fun sex without strings. Kurt knows that, and he accepts it, and he needs to stop trying to convince himself that anything else is true.

Sebastian’s probably just coming over to go over what’s to happen tonight at the Oscars, and that’s it. Tonight is the last official night of their deal, after all, and then it’s all over, no point in trying to keep up the friendship beyond that, right? And so Kurt keeps his reply brief and aloof.

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **   
_Go for it. Room 122._

It’s nearing ten o’clock now, so Kurt takes a long shower and orders a spinach omelet from room service for a late breakfast, then goes through his suitcase to make sure nothing’s crinkled too badly. Isabelle has sent for his suit to be dropped off in a couple of hours, so there’s nothing really vital to iron, but it’s a time killer.

He’s just hanging up his sweater for the plane ride home in the small closet at the edge of the living room when the sound of fingers tapping at the front door of the suite distracts him. He puts on his bravest face, not quite sure if he’s ready to deal with this yet but knowing he has to anyway, and slowly pulls the door open.

Outside, Sebastian’s hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched a bit, and he looks just as uncomfortable as Kurt feels. With the playing ground equal, Kurt ushers him in with a tilt of the head, and Sebastian follows slowly.

“Nice room,” he says, looking around the suite like he’s examining his surroundings, though he’s clearly not even paying attention.

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, and his ears are met with silence. It’s so damn awkward between them in a way it’s never been before. Even when they supposedly hated each other, there were never awkward moments like this, and Kurt would honestly rather be back to that so-called hatred than be subjected to this uncomfortable situation any longer. Clearing his throat to dispel the silence, he asks, “Aren’t you staying here too, though?”

“Huh? No, I stay at Santana’s place when I’m in L.A.” More silence. “Thanks, by the way. For the, uh, birthday text.”

“No problem.” Kurt stares at his bare feet against the floor, seconds ticking by in his head.

“Oh, fuck it, this is so awkward,” Sebastian groans, finally loosening his posture. “Hi, I ignored you yesterday. I shouldn’t have, I don’t actually have a good reason for it, and it was stupid of me.”

Kurt is so relieved to hear it that he nearly hugs Sebastian before he thinks better of it. “God, I am so glad you said that. Hi.”

“Hi,” Sebastian echoes. “Can we start over?”

Kurt’s only too glad to do so, and he nods quickly.

“Hi, I’m Sebastian. I am a closeted snuggle whore, a bathroom hog, and I get homesick easily. I can be an asshole sometimes, but a pretty cool guy once told me I’m not _that_ big of one, so I’m trying to live up to that, and it’s hard, clearly, but I think it’s worth it. Nice to meet you.”

Kurt grins and accepts the handshake that Sebastian reaches out for.

“Hello, I’m Kurt. I, too, am a bathroom hog, but even worse, because I will _actually_ drive people out of the bathroom by loudly singing until they’re so annoyed that they leave, Rachel Berry is my witness of this. I have a tendency to push people away, and I am sorry for doing that to you. Nice to meet you too.”

They stand there in the entryway for a few seconds, smiling at each other, before Kurt finally walks all the way inside, Sebastian close in tow.

“So you get homesick, huh?”

Sebastian laughs to himself and flops backwards onto the overstuffed sofa in the living area. “Yep. Why else on Earth do you think I paid all that money in airfare from here to New York and back the past few weeks?”

“Because you missed my beautiful face?” Kurt tries, and Sebastian swats at him with a throw pillow. “Ow, dickhead! Way to start over!”

“Exactly,” Sebastian chuckles.

Kurt glares, but he sits on the arm of the couch anyway, fingers drumming against his knees. “Haven’t you been homesick this whole week, then?”

Sebastian shrugs. “Santana’s actually home this time. I don’t know, being alone in New York is one thing, but being alone somewhere as wide open as California is… weird. I feel more at home when I’m with someone I love.”

When he trails off, Kurt can feel the silence settling between them again, less awkward and more intense this time, so he chuckles and stands up. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Sebastian Smythe? The ruthless bastard that I know would have never admitted to feeling such a pitiful human emotion as _love_.”

And maybe the idea of Sebastian feeling love for _anyone_ kind of does a number on Kurt’s heart.

“Yeah, well, sometimes even evil robot warlords like me get hit by sudden waves of _feelings_.” Sebastian sighs as he stands up, aiming a small smile up at Kurt. “Anyway. I just wanted to stop by and make sure we were okay before tonight. So… we okay?”

 “We’re good,” Kurt confirms. “See you in a couple hours?”

Sebastian nods as he walks back to the door. “I’ll be back at three, probably pissing my pants from nervousness.”

  


* * *

  


The first thing Kurt notices when he gets into the limo is the gorgeous head of curly blonde hair that can only belong to one Quinn Fabray. (The second is that Sebastian looks fantastic in Balenciaga, but that’s a less pressing issue at the moment.) And it’s not that he’s displeased to see her, because he’s never actually met Quinn despite wanting to ever since her Disney Channel days, it’s just that he doesn’t quite know how to act towards Sebastian when she’s around. He remembers her texts during the SAG’s, several referring to Sebastian as his boyfriend, or the ever-charming and mostly-drunken _your boooyyy_ , so who knows if she’s oblivious to the deal or just good at hiding that she’s not, and Kurt can’t help but watch her out of the corner of his eye as he sits next to Sebastian, gauging her reaction.

Luckily, when he’s about to make a complete ass of himself by tentatively reaching for Sebastian’s hand, Quinn laughs, a bright noise that breaks the tension.

“Relax, you sneaky bastard, I’m in on the secret now, no fake PDA required,” she chuckles, digging an elbow into Sebastian’s side when he makes a childish noise of dissent.

“She eavesdropped when I was on the phone with Emma yesterday and then practically held me hostage in Santana’s pool house until I told her the story,” Sebastian adds flatly as the car begins to pull away from the hotel.

Quinn playfully glares at him before turning a smile back to Kurt. “So now I’m showing up with you two for more evidence that you’re for real. The boyfriend even gets along with the costar? Must be legit.”

Honestly, Kurt doesn’t know if her plan is really helpful at all, but he nods and smiles anyway before staring out of the window at the sidewalk outside. The streets are so packed for the event that the pedestrians outside are walking faster than the flow of traffic, which is good for the time being because Kurt’s stomach is twisted into so many knots that he’s starting to feel like he’s going to be sick. Not even the ride to the Tonys last year was this nerve-wracking for him, maybe because he had his best friends by his side and would be in a theater of people he’d known and loved for years as opposed to a bunch of A-listers who probably don’t know or care who he is, or maybe because sitting with his knees touching Sebastian’s only makes him think of the wedding, the way their thighs slotted together, hands roaming, Sebastian’s lips whispering encouragements against the shell of his ear.

It’s an inconvenient thought, and Kurt doesn’t know of he’s relieved or mortified when Sebastian purposely knocks their knees together to get his attention.

“You okay?”

And isn’t that just the question of the century? But Kurt gives a short nod and Sebastian’s curiosity seems quelled, though he still looks at him, an expression that could almost be described as encouragement on his face.

“Don’t sweat it. Big red carpets can be scary as hell, but Emma’s waiting there for us, and if you stick with me and Quinn and avoid JBI and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, that sounds easier said than done,” Kurt fires back, forcefully pushing some sass into his voice to mask the nerves. “I don’t even know who JBI is to avoid him.”

Sebastian and Quinn exchange brief glances before the two of them both burst out laughing, presumably at Kurt’s expense, the way they keep looking at him between giggles.

“Kurt, that’s almost adorable,” Sebastian says at the same time Quinn murmurs, “I _wish_ I didn’t know who JBI was.”

Kurt glares between the two of them until Sebastian gives in and explains, “Small guy, nasally voice, glasses and a white dude ‘fro. Nerdiest looking asshole you’ve ever seen, yet somehow, his shitty tabloid site makes _millions_.”

“He’s just kind of awful and tends to post rude news articles about people, whether they’re true or not,” Quinn adds. Kurt doesn’t quite make out the rest of what she says, but he thinks he hears something along the lines of _“stupid blind item”_ and _“Santana and me, whatever”_ and _“it was only a two-time thing.”_

Quinn turns to glare out of the window, but it’s futile, because the limo pulls up to the curb at the end of the red carpet not thirty seconds later. She moves to smooth out the lace of her dress, taking a deep breath in and letting it back out in a sigh, before twisting her irritated expression into a camera-ready smile, wishing Kurt and Sebastian good luck out there before she steps outside to immediate fanfare and flashbulbs.

That’s when Sebastian’s hand curls around Kurt’s, squeezing the knuckles for reassurance, his eyes imploring the both of them not to be so worried and slides out after Quinn.

The red carpet is a lot louder in person than it ever seemed on TV. Between photographers shouting directions, interviewers begging for answers to their questions, and screeching fans in the reserved bleachers lining the walkway, Kurt can barely hear Sebastian’s voice, even with his lips right to his ear.

“Follow my lead,” he nearly shouts just so he can be heard over the cacophony of sound.

Kurt has no idea what that entails, but he nods anyway, eyes searching down the carpet, looking for Emma so he knows where to look to make sure they’re doing okay. He spots her standing in a crowd of publicists with Sebastian and Quinn’s stylist, Sugar. She grins sort of manically, flashing two thumbs up, and Kurt mentally counts the amount of steps to get over to her for reassurance that he’s not going to screw this up, but there’s no use. So many reporters are shouting his and Sebastian’s names that they have to stop and give interviews or else they’ll seem rude, mostly just sound bites about what they’re wearing and if Sebastian is nervous or not—which, judging by the death grip he keeps on Kurt’s hand, he most definitely is. JBI is kind of hard to miss, leaning against the press barrier and shouting mostly unintelligible questions that are almost hilarious to ignore, the way he glares Kurt and Sebastian down and starts typing furiously away at his iPhone when they breeze past him without a word.

“Well, by the looks of JBI right now, we can expect a scathing and inaccurate article come tomorrow morning,” Emma chirps once they finally reach her. “Now we kind of owe E! News an interview since they published the story about Kurt at the airport yesterday, you ready for it?”

Kurt groans inwardly. Of all the paparazzi shots there were of him, they had to use a photo of him looking tired and irritated. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe E! News jack shit, but he _does_ owe Sebastian and Emma and Isabelle, so he takes a deep breath in and nods, much to Emma’s delight.

Sebastian walks the miniature stairway up to the E! cameras, seamlessly putting on his sweet, humble red carpet persona, and Kurt watches from behind, just out of the camera’s view, waiting for his cue to follow behind. They’ve gone over this before, during their first meeting with Emma that seems so far-off now: Sebastian steps up first, the interviewer—Ryan Seacrest, again, and _man_ , he really is as short as they say—asks the inevitable _“who’s your date tonight?”_ question that Sebastian’s been avoiding, only now he has an answer, and that’s when Kurt steps to his side and they pack on the lovey-dovey bullshit (or what was classified as bullshit a month ago and now feels like a heavy reminder in the pit of Kurt’s stomach).

“Now I’m sure anyone who’s familiar with the Broadway scene will recognize your Tony-winning red carpet companion for the evening.”

Kurt, heart hammering with nerves, watches the camera monitor to see the soft smirk that appears on Sebastian’s face, teasing a bit before he confirms.

“They would, they would,” he says lightly. “‘Tony-winning red carpet companion’ is a bit of a mouthful, though, I just like to call him my boyfriend.”

Emma’s hand drops to the small of Kurt’s back, gently nudging him forward as Sebastian looks back and reaches his own hand out. Kurt grabs it once he’s up the first couple of steps, barely getting in a squeeze of the fingers before he’s being pulled against Sebastian’s side, an arm slipped low around his waist and a kiss pressed to his temple.

Seacrest’s face is priceless, a mix of _oh shit, this is happening_ and _we’re gonna make so much money off of being the ones to break this story!_ “So is this your confirmation?”

Kurt settles against Sebastian’s side, head tipped against his shoulder where he can still feel the anxious pounding of his heart, but it’s sort of calming, even if they’re both nervous for completely different reasons. Sebastian has an award to worry about and Kurt’s mostly just freaking out over nationally televised PDA and the possibility of this whole fantasy ending by midnight tonight like a twisted Cinderella story, but it’s comforting to know that even if he’s alone on the why of it all, he’s not the only one freaking out right now.

“Guess it is,” Sebastian says, easy smile betraying his nervous heart and the tight grip he’s got on Kurt’s hip.

Kurt can see the millions of invasive questions brewing in Ryan’s head just by the look on his face, but he knows tonight is just for confirmation, any relationship details they give out will be useless once word of their “breakup” gets out. Ryan must see it in Kurt’s eyes as well because the dollar signs in his eyes fade and he switches back to his pleasant smile.

“Well, with that, I’ll let these lovebirds go! Best of luck in there tonight, Sebastian, great to see you, Kurt.”

Quinn’s waiting at the bottom of the steps with Emma and Sugar, who’s fussing with the ribbon at the waist of Quinn’s dress.

“You idiots,” she says with a grin, reaching for Sebastian’s hand that’s not currently gripping the life out of Kurt’s. “You ready for this?”

If the bone-crushing squeeze Sebastian gives both of their hands is anything to go by, he’s probably not, but the three of them step into the theater anyway.

  


* * *

  


If Kurt thought that going inside would calm his nerves any, he was dead wrong, because inside seems to be even _more_ packed with A-listers he’d never even dreamed of meeting. Angelina freaking Jolie is right behind him, for crying out loud, and the seating arrangement has him smack in the middle of the front row between Sebastian and Jason Bateman, who spend the time before the show cracking inside jokes from filming that Kurt doesn’t understand. Kurt keeps up with as much of the conversation as he can, though it mostly becomes an exercise in biting his tongue so he doesn’t seem like a star struck child when an Arrested Development quote or reference to his character in Kill the Messenger tries to fight its way out.

The show itself is typical. Less rowdy and a little more snooty than the Tonys, but he’d be lying to himself if Unique Adams’ Best Supporting Actress speech didn’t make him tear up.

What he can’t help but notice, though, is that once the initial nerves and awkwardness about the situation begin to fade, things with Sebastian seem almost normal. Their hands occasionally find each other’s between their seats, squeezing for comfort during commercial breaks or to help hold back laughter when someone’s acceptance speech goes on too long and the orchestra starts to play them off the stage. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but little moments like these only serve to make him wonder if tonight really _has_ to be the end. He’s not expecting Sebastian to be his boyfriend by the end of the night or anything—he’s learned from the wedding—but there’s nothing that says they can’t still be friends after tonight, figuring out their feelings together and maybe one day down the road becoming something more.

When Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand as Helena Bonham Carter walks onstage to announce Best Actor, palms sweaty and shaking, Kurt can’t help but press a small, reassuring kiss to his knuckles, earning a thankful smile in return. The big screens flash the clips of the nominees: Sebastian, Ezra, and the other three that nobody really expects to win. This year’s buzz has all been about the who would be the youngest Best Actor winner: Ezra or Sebastian.

“And the Oscar goes to...”

There’s a long, dramatic moment where the theater goes dead silent. Kurt hears Sebastian swallow hard, sees the way his teeth clamp down nervously on his lower lip, feels the unsteady clasp of their fingers, and hopes for the best.

“Ezra Miller.”


	12. Chapter 12

_“Sebastian! Kurt! Over here!”_

_“Sebastian, any words about Ezra winning the Oscar?”_

_“Kurt, what do tonight’s events mean for your relationship?”_

Kurt wishes it would rain. Not that the photographers crowding the red carpet at the after party don’t have umbrellas and waterproof lenses, but just so he could rush inside without having to hear the barrage of questions thrown at him, and especially the ones asked to Sebastian. There are only so many false smiles to flash and repeated statements of _“Ezra’s very talented and he deserves this award and more”_ and _“I’m proud of Sebastian regardless of whether or not he won”_ that two people can dole out before they start to go crazy.

Sebastian’s insisted several times over, to Kurt and Quinn and Emma and an irate Sugar, that he’s perfectly fine, a slightly bruised ego is easy to deal with, especially when the film itself won Best Picture and he’s got another in the works. He’s seemed genuine every time he’s said it, too, no hint of melancholy or any sort of lasting sadness about losing tonight, but now that he’s being shoved in front of a hundred cameras with Kurt again, being poked and prodded with questions neither of them wants to answer with the end of the deal looming so close, he’s closed himself off. His posture is a bit more rigid, hand more firm on Kurt’s hip, smile tighter and less genuine than it had been for the last red carpet.

When they finally get the okay from Emma to clear out and head inside the party, Sebastian immediately glances around the main room as if he’s looking for someone. It’s crowded, and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever been around so many famous people in one place, not even when Jesse got him into Hugh Jackman’s Saturday Night Live cast party a year ago, so Sebastian could be looking for anybody, really, or just a reason to avert his attention, but Kurt doesn’t let himself think of that. Or at least he tries not to.

Thankfully, Sebastian does find a rather harmless target: Santana, who’s sitting at the bar, seemingly chatting up the bartender, who’s looking a mix of flattered and completely star struck.

“I’m gonna go talk to Santana, will you be alright?”

_No_ , Kurt wants to answer, if not because he’s being abandoned in a party full of people he doesn’t know by the man he can’t help but have feelings for, then because he wants to meet the much-fabled best friend who he really only knows from Sebastian’s anecdotes and guilty pleasure-watching the deliciously cheesy Lifetime movie she did two summers ago. The idea of being alone, even though he’s surrounded by people, isn’t a comfortable thought, but he grits his teeth and nods, flashing a smile that he hopes doesn’t look half as false as it feels.

“Go ahead, I’ll mingle.”

With a returning smile that’s more of a vague curl of the lips than anything, Sebastian disappears into the crowd, leaving Kurt to climb the stairs up to the indoor balcony and wander aimlessly until there’s a flash of a green dress at his side and an arm threaded through his. Quinn looks harried, eyebrows furrowed slightly and the glass of champagne in her hand halfway gone.

“Where’s Sebastian?” she asks with a huff.

Kurt looks around, to the bar that he seems to have disappeared from, and where Santana’s still talking to the bartender. He lets his eyes sweep the room from above, watching everyone dance and socialize until he spots the navy suit Sebastian changed into for the party at one of the tables in the back corner, grinning openly at... Hunter Clarington, of all people.

But Quinn’s not looking where Kurt is, still focused on the bar, eyes too glassy for a girl whose movie just won an Oscar. Kurt tugs at her elbow and she clears her throat and acts like she wasn’t just staring at Santana the way he was at Sebastian.

“What an ass, comes here with you and leaves you to flirt with someone else,” she mutters, and Kurt wonders how much of it is aimed at Sebastian and how much is for Santana. She holds Kurt’s arm close to her side as she finishes off her champagne and places it on a passing waiter’s tray. “Dance with me?”

He suspects that she’s only asking this so she can go back downstairs and spy on Santana, but the thought of doing the same with Sebastian is too tempting to pass up, so he pulls their arms apart and holds Quinn’s hand instead, walking her downstairs and slipping into the crowd on the dance floor. The song playing is slow, so his arms wrap around her waist and her head comes to rest on his shoulder and they sway lazily, both too preoccupied with their thoughts to do anything else.

“He’s different,” Quinn murmurs, though it’s mostly muffled by Kurt’s jacket. “After you two got in that fight or whatever it was. He was different, like good different.”

Just as Kurt opens his mouth to reply, she’s quick to pull back and shake her head. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I’m sort of drunk and having a shitty night and I need to go home and not say words.”

Kurt nods and helps her steady herself. “Need me to call someone?”

“Nah, one of the drivers outside will take me, no one else is leaving until late anyway,” Quinn sighs, leading Kurt back through the crowd so they’re close to the exit. “If you get lonely, you’re welcome to punch Sebastian in the junk and come by my house.”

“I may take you up on the first half of the offer,” Kurt chuckles. “But you should sleep.”

Quinn nods, stumbling a bit and only partially-intentionally nudging her forehead against Kurt’s before kissing the tip of his nose and stepping outside.

“Quinn?” he calls before she can find a car. She turns around, looking like she’s barely holding it together. “She’ll come around.”

She gives a dejected shrug before she disappears down the steps. When Kurt turns back to the party, he catches Santana watching her leave with sad eyes.

Quinn does have the right idea, though: leaving seems like a fantastic idea right about now. It’s been a long day, the heat of the room is probably messing with his hair, and, quite frankly, he’s sick of watching Sebastian flirt with Hunter out of the corner of his eye.

It takes a minute to find a waiter milling about, but once he does, Kurt grabs the first glass of champagne he can get his hands on from the tray and downs the whole thing in one go. He’s going to need something in his system if he’s going to work up the courage to do what he’s about to do.

He can’t lie to himself any longer: this isn’t going anywhere. It’s not fair to either of them if they go on like this, Kurt getting hurt over things he has no right to be hurt over, and Sebastian being held back because of it.

The ache starts in the pit of his stomach, the memory of a year and a half ago, the look of both sorrow and happiness on Adam’s face when he found out he got the job in Washington, the way they’d held each other for hours on the couch, crying intermittently between discussions of what this meant for them. Kurt remembers lifting his head from the crook of Adam’s neck, unable to fight back the sob climbing up from the back of his throat, kissing him softly before whispering, _“We can’t. You’ll be gone nine months every year, and I’ll still be here. We can’t do it anymore,”_ and Adam had nodded and agreed that they’d finish out the summer together, and after that, they were done.

The sinking feeling now is similar, almost heavier. Because at least with Adam, he knew they’d always be close, that there would be pieces of them that would always love each other. This time, everything’s a gamble. When he reminds Sebastian that the deal’s over, he has no idea what will happen, and as much as he’d love to stay friends, there’s always the possibility that Sebastian won’t. Maybe what’s felt real to Kurt in the past month and a half has all been an extended acting exercise on Sebastian’s part.

Kurt could just leave without a word, walk out the door behind Quinn without having to deal with the hard part, and a small part of him wants to do just that, but the overwhelming rest of him knows he can’t. He needs to see Sebastian one more time.

And so his feet stumble over to the table where Sebastian’s seated a little too close to Hunter, and Kurt clears his throat slightly, earning a mild glare from Hunter and a flustered expression from Sebastian.

“Hi,” Kurt says, too timidly.

“Hi,” Sebastian echoes. He looks torn for a minute before turning apologetic eyes toward Hunter. “Excuse us for a minute?”

Hunter nods, still looking perturbed, while Sebastian stands up and follows Kurt to the exit where it’s quieter.

“I’ve gotta go, I have an early flight and I should get some sleep,” Kurt half-lies. Sure, his flight is at eight o’clock, but there’s no way in hell he’s getting any sleep tonight.

Sebastian looks confused for a second, but he nods. “Oh. Do you want me to ride with you back to the hotel? For appearances?”

The last two words hit hard, though Kurt knows Sebastian means no harm with them.

“No. We’re—I mean—The deal ends tonight anyway, doesn’t it?”

Sebastian looks down at his shoes, scuffing the toe of one on the steps beneath his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“So.” Kurt feels the same tension from earlier in the day at the hotel, but this time, there’s no way to escape it.

“So,” Sebastian echoes. “I guess this is it.”

He must see the tears threatening to well up in Kurt’s eyes, because he steps forward and envelopes him in a tight hug that does more to further wound Kurt’s aching heart than it does to comfort him, but he still grips Sebastian’s shirt and allows himself one last deep breath of his cologne.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says quietly against the side of Kurt’s head. “For helping, and for not being an ass about it.”

Kurt could argue that he _was_ an ass about it, they both were, but any words he was planning die on his tongue when Sebastian’s lips gently touch his forehead in goodbye.

_Make me stay_ , the little voice in the back of Kurt’s head begs. _Just say the word and I’ll stay._

They don’t say anything when they part, and Kurt watches Sebastian disappear back into the ballroom before he finds their limo driver. It’s then that he lets himself sink into his seat and cry.

  


* * *

  


He accidentally left the air conditioner running all night, so when he gets back to the hotel room, it’s freezing cold, though he barely notices because as soon as he steps inside, he collapses into bed and falls into a restless nightmare of whatever’s bound to happen between Sebastian and Hunter tonight.

The morning dawns slowly, and Kurt’s already long awake, nursing a cup of weak coffee from the in-room brewer, when his wake-up call comes. He dresses down for the flight, hat over his messy hair and sunglasses on so the paparazzi in the terminal don’t have to see his bloodshot, tired eyes.

It should feel good, flying back home to his own bed, his own life, away from the overbearing glitz of Los Angeles, but all Kurt can think about are the three thousand miles between New York City and Seattle, and the sense of dread and regret pooling in his gut.

  


* * *

  


**_Trouble in paradise?_ **  
_JBI Gossip_  
 _February 25, 2019_

_You heard it from us first: Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe are on the rocks, and this time it’s for real._

_Last night’s Oscar party should have been a night of merriment—Sebastian may have lost Best Actor to Ezra Miller, but Kill the Messenger was the big winner of the night—but it seems that some drama bubbled up between Sebastian and golden boy Kurt at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party._

_“They were tense all night,” a trusted insider tells us. “They spent almost no time together, instead avoiding each other and talking to other people. When they were finally together, they seemed upset, then Kurt left early in a separate car.”_  


_Things didn’t get better this morning either: the pair arrived at LAX at different times before Kurt boarded a flight back to New York City and Sebastian jetted off to Seattle to begin filming his next flick_.

_Is the pressure of confirming their romance too much? Perhaps Kurt is disappointed that his man lost? Or could something deeper be the matter?_


	13. Chapter 13

The week after getting home is spent adjusting and getting reacquainted with the mostly solitary lifestyle he’d been living before it got all shaken up. It’s weird, having to settle back into his old life when it’s not that old at all, but Kurt needs to flush the last couple of months from his system. January was a mess, February was all kinds of confusing, and he’s hoping that March won’t bring any more unnecessary drama.

Of course, there are still unpleasant reminders of what was: small moments when something ridiculous happens and Kurt has half a mind to text Sebastian about it until he realizes that’s not something they do anymore, or silly things that bring back fond and often painful memories. The most unpleasant of all, though, comes on the first day of March, sitting in a room that only serves to bring back memories of the past few weeks.

Isabelle’s office looks the same as it always does: fabulously yet tastefully decorated with seasonally appropriate drapes and pictures of her nieces and nephews in sleek frames on the wall, warm and inviting just like the woman herself, but today, there seems to be something off about it. Maybe the sun is too bright, or it’s slanting through the window at a different angle, maybe the spring green drapes are changing its color, or maybe it’s the dread seeping out of every single one of Kurt’s pores, bringing a metaphorical raincloud with him everywhere he goes. He’s been expecting this meeting since the deal began, dreading it since the party on Sunday, and now that it’s here, he feels almost sick to his stomach. A month ago, telling Isabelle that he and Sebastian were done for seemed like it would be a joyous occasion. Today, it’s torturous.

“I know you’re adamant, Ms. Sylvester, but if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, there is no way we can fit a tribute to the Physical music video into our production of Grease, that is an anachronism and a half. Yes, I am aware that Olivia Newton-John played Sandy in the film. No, we cannot cast her in the revival. Yes, I am completely sure. Have a nice day, goodbye.”

But if there’s anything that can settle his nerves, it’s eavesdropping on Isabelle talking to one of her more... _colorful_ clients, with Tina at her heels laughing silently to herself before she catches Kurt’s eye and they laugh together.

“You tell ‘em over and over again, and they still don’t listen,” Isabelle huffs, pulling the bluetooth out of her ear and settling into the seat behind her desk. Tina takes her usual seat beside Kurt. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Kurt, but you know Sue Sylvester.”

And he does. He’d never been so glad to miss out on a part than when he’d heard Sue’s production of Mary Poppins included open flames an entire flock of live chickens for no purpose other than because she wanted it to.

“Anyway,” Isabelle sighs, and Kurt can feel the dreaded question coming from the tone of her voice. “What’s the prognosis, do I have a delicately-worded breakup confirmation to send to People Magazine?”

The _no_ on the tip of Kurt’s tongue nearly comes out before he can bite it back down. He twists his hands together so tightly that the skin feels overstretched, stinging with pain, and murmurs, “Yeah. It’s done.”

Isabelle frowns, tapping at her chin with a pen, and he can feel the heated glare Tina’s sending the side of his head, but what were they expecting him to say? _“No, we’re eternally in love now, the wedding’s next weekend”?_ It’s been a known fact from the start that this was nothing more than a quick sham to make Sebastian look better for all the film critics that would be all over him for Awards Season. Or at least that’s what Kurt tells himself, no matter how many thoughts he’s had to the contrary lately.

“And you’re one-hundred percent sure, Kurt?”

 _No._ “I have to be.”

He says it to his knees, staring down into his lap to avoid the stares of the women surrounding him, though Tina jabs her elbow into his the second she gets the chance.

Isabelle’s sympathetic sigh is enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he won’t cry. He can’t cry, can’t let himself feel anything. It’s a business decision, nothing more.

“Right. Well, I’ll send a draft to Emma to go over with Sebastian, but we’ve still got to wait for them to confirm and approve before we let anything get out,” Isabelle says as she turns to her computer, typing and clicking around before the usual pleasant smile returns to her face. “In happier news, I did happen to get an email this morning from one Jesse St. James...”

The thought of Emma going over the draft with Sebastian, of him agreeing that this is all done, doesn’t sit right in Kurt’s stomach, so he tries to busy himself by thinking of what Jesse could have possibly sent her. God knows there are probably hundreds of embarrassing photos stored between Jesse and Rachel’s laptops that could be sitting in Isabelle’s inbox right now, and it’s a blessed distraction from all the turmoil in his head.

“And?” he croaks, hopefully masking the thousands of emotions he’s feeling.

“Oh, calm down, I’ve already seen the Spring Break 2015 photos,” Isabelle grins. It’s a small weight off of Kurt’s heavy shoulders. “But Jesse _did_ mention that the play he’s written goes into workshop next week, and the only person he knows who could hold his own as Mercedes Jones’s love interest happens to be you, my dear.”

Good news, finally. It’s exactly what Kurt needs to hear right now, and he’s having trouble picking which part of that sentence he is most excited about. A new play means keeping himself busy and getting his mind off of everything Sebastian, and the added bonus of Mercedes freaking Jones is icing on the cake.

“If this is an offer, then I completely accept,” Kurt replies, voice only a little wobbly. He springs up to hug Isabelle, only for her to grab him first and mutter in his ear that he deserves it.

“Now skedaddle and celebrate so you don’t get caught in the commotion when Sue Sylvester inevitably barges in to shout at me, okay?”

Kurt nods and quickly exits the office, but he hardly gets a few feet before Tina’s grabbing him by the scarf so he can’t get away. When she drags Kurt so he’s facing her, her eyes are narrowed, eyebrows pulled together into a tight glare.

“Okay,” she starts, “what the hell happened in the last two weeks that brought on _that_?”

“Brought on what?” Kurt tries innocently. “Jesse knows I’ve been trying to find a new play and that I love Mercedes, of course he’d ask me.”

“Oh, don’t pull this bull with me. You and Sebastian were all over each other at the wedding, and now you suddenly don’t want anything to do with each other?”

“That’s jumping to conclusions,” Kurt snaps, freeing his scarf from her grip. “Things change, and the wedding was just—Never mind. Just. Don’t.”

When he stops talking to breathe a deep sigh, Tina’s glare melts into a frown, and Kurt wishes that people would just stop fucking _frowning_ at him, because it’s not aiding the cause of him not wanting to throw a pity party for himself.

“If that’s what makes you happy,” Tina says with a shrug, turning on a heel and heading back to Isabelle’s office.

Kurt waits until she’s gone before walking back to the elevator and mumbling to himself, “It’s not about what makes me happy.”

He rides the elevator that reminds him of Sebastian downstairs, takes a cab that reminds him of Sebastian back home, and curls up in a ball on the couch that reminds him of Sebastian before pulling out his phone to text the one person who won’t make him feel bad about Sebastian.

**_To: Rachel Berry_ **  
_I’d say today sucks, but your awesome husband cast me in a play, so only /most/ of today sucked._

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_judgment day? i’m sorryyy :(( i’ll be home soon and we can hug it out <3_

**_To: Rachel Berry_ **  
_Love you. Tell Jesse thank you for me._

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_he’s taking 20 yrs to get ready b/c his hair can’t handle humidity lol but i’ll be sure to! go take a nap and get yr mind off things for now bby. ily imy xoxo_

**_To: Rachel Berry_ **  
_Yeah, yeah, I will. Have fun spending exorbitant amounts of time in Italy away from me, losers. <3_

Of course, napping would be a lot easier if there wasn’t a bout of insistent pounding on his door fifteen minutes in. He’d ignore it and go back to sleep, but he’s also aware of how pissy the landlord can get sometimes, so Kurt rolls off the couch, stretching his back out while quickly brushing a hand through his hair.

But when he opens the door, it’s not his angry landlord, or anyone he expected to see ever again.

“Morning, sunshine!”

Santana Lopez, for some reason, is grinning at him from the hallway, Quinn at her side. He’d ask why, but he kind of doesn’t want to know, though Santana insists on telling him anyway.

“This is your intervention.”

Kurt looks to Quinn for clarification, but she shrugs and rolls her eyes fondly.

“Uh,” Kurt tries, looking between the two for any sort of hint. “Intervention for what, exactly?”

“For being a dumbass,” Santana says, grabbing him by the arm. “Now come on. This is not happening in here, it smells like sadness and Elizabeth Taylor White Diamonds.”

Before he can protest, Kurt’s being dragged downstairs, through the lobby, outside, and into the coffee shop, and by fear of the arm of his shirt being stretched out more than actual free will, he sits across from Quinn and Santana.

“So you’re a dumbass,” Santana begins.

Kurt gives her a tired glare through the two fingers his forehead is propped up on, tempted to drop one of them to show her how he _really_ feels. “You’ve mentioned this before.”

Quinn sighs and leans forward, covering one of Santana’s tensed hands on the tabletop with her own. They both blink down at the sight for a few seconds, smiling rosy-cheeked and shy, before they look at Kurt again with twin looks of determination.

“What she _means_ is that this thing between you and Sebastian needs to be worked out because you two are basically just bashing your heads into the wall. Metaphorically. Though I would not doubt that either of you is literally doing that at this point.”

“And it’s _pathetic_ ,” Santana adds. “You idiots need to learn about this little handy-dandy thing that I like to call communication.”

Kurt glares her down, but Santana doesn’t so much as flinch. Her face keeps the same calm, devious leer she’s been sporting since the door opened.

Honestly, he just wants to go back upstairs and finish his nap so the day can go by faster, but Santana’s almost challenging him, the way she settles back in her chair and raises a single eyebrow. Kurt squares his shoulders and lifts his head, matching her smirk.

“Means a ton coming from you, Two Time Thing.”

Santana still looks unaffected, though Quinn snorts and nudges her with her shoulder until they both laugh for a moment.

“And you know what Quinn and I did, Twinkerbell? We worked it out, because that’s what people who like each other do. I know it seems like Sebastian’s stoic and over it and leaving you behind, but you should know by now that underneath his cold bitch exterior, he’s a tragic bucket of feelings and he’s just as whiny and broken up about whatever the hell happened as you are.”

She has a point, and _god_ , Kurt doesn’t want to admit she’s right and he’s wrong, but he huffs out a sigh of defeat, dropping his head to his fingers again and asking, “Did you two seriously come all the way across the country just to talk sense into me?”

“Please,” Santana chuckles. “We’re dirty rich and we’ve got frequent flyer miles. Sometimes I fly to Hawaii just because I want a Mai Tai.”

With a light slap to the arm, Quinn gets the first actual reaction out of Santana since they sat down: a scrunched nose and a lighthearted glare.

“Santana’s due in Seattle in a couple of days and she’s bringing some of his stuff to him,” Quinn clarifies.

“And you’re here with her because?”

Quinn looks down to avoid eye contact, but it doesn’t stop Kurt from seeing the smile that she can’t fight.

“One more question?”

Santana looks harshly at Kurt, eyebrows furrowed. “Ugh, fine, go for it, Jimmy Neutron.”

Kurt’s hand absentmindedly flies to his hair, because if he has Jimmy Neutron hair, it is entirely their fault for forcing him down here with only enough time to slide his shoes on and not fix his bed hair, but everything seems to be in place, so he folds his hands on the table and smiles, just slightly. “Why are we having this conversation in a public place?”

Santana rolls her eyes, then looks to Quinn before they both glance at the counter, where Brittany, as usual, is cheerily keeping herself busy in the post-breakfast lull of the shop. It’s lucky that the place is dead at this time of day so there won’t be yet another JBI stalker story.

“Hot barista, why the hell else?” Santana says with a grin, and honestly, Kurt has no desire to hear anything further because he’s happy that they’ve worked out their drama and all, but there are some things he just does not have to know. He moves to excuse himself from the table, but Santana catches his wrist before he can fully stand up and pulls him back down so he’s sitting once more. “Look, I don’t even know you and Quinn’s only met you once, so let me make this blindingly clear: I don’t know your game or anything about you other than what Sebastian’s told me the past couple months, but he’s my best friend and if you fuck with him, I will not hesitate to punch you in that cute little rosy-cheeked Munchkin Land face of yours. For whatever reason, you make him happy, and he’s much more bearable when he’s happy, so don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”

“Seconded,” Quinn agrees. “Maybe a little less violent. Please just try to work this out?”

Kurt wants to respond in agreement, but his mind only serves to remind him of his meeting with Isabelle less than an hour ago, and his shoulders slump on their own accord. “I would, except I just told my publicist to send out the breakup confirmation.”

It seems to be no skin off of the girls’ noses, though, because Quinn shrugs and Santana snorts out, “Miley and Liam have been publicly breaking up and getting back together every six months for _years_ now. One paparazzi’d froyo date and you two are back to super couple territory.”

Quinn nods along. “She’s right, and trust me as a fellow former Disney Channel brat, it’s super annoying. But if either of you has half a brain, this will be the only time it happens to you two. So just give it a try because I cannot stand Sebastian when he’s mopey.”

Kurt nods in agreement, not entirely sure that he _can_ not fuck this up, but sort of just wanting to get away to think. He stands up, and this time he gets about two steps away from the table before Santana’s hand wraps around his wrist again.

“Just FYI, he’s got a break from filming two weeks from today.” Santana lets him go and dismisses him with a wink followed by a hard glare, and Kurt slips outside before she and Quinn can do whatever it is they want to do about Brittany.

As he waits for the elevator, though, he starts contemplating. Santana’s comment about Sebastian being broken up about everything sticks with him, and he starts wondering if maybe their thoughts _hadn’t_ been too different when they’d said goodbye the other night, if it wasn’t just Kurt who was reluctant about the whole thing. It could explain the forehead kiss, the lingering hug, the resigned tone to Sebastian’s voice when they’d parted. The girls could be right, this really _could_ all work out.

And so it’s with an open mind that Kurt innocently googles Sebastian’s name on Sunday afternoon and clicks on the first new story he sees.

> _1:25 pm – 03/03/2019_  
>  **_Sebastian looking qt on the set of his new movie_ **  
> _Posted by **annhog** in **ohnotheydidnt**_
> 
> _Sebastian Smythe may not have nabbed the Oscar, but that’s not keeping him from working! The 25-year-old was spotted on the set of his newest film, an untitled Artie Abrams project, this Tuesday (March 5) outside of Seattle, WA. Not much is known yet about the film, but rumors are flying that Sebastian’s real life best friend, Santana Lopez, may be set to costar._
> 
> _(((freaking out about santana omg! i hope it’s true, she’s too talented for the flops she keeps starring in and artie’s movies are always awards bait)))_
> 
> _ Comments: _
>
>>   
> **_brangelina2928_ **  
> _He is so damn hot, omg. Those freckles. <3_  
>  _I hope this movie’s less sad than his last one! I s2g, Sebastian, make a movie that’s not going to make me cry for once, I still haven’t recovered from KTM._
>> 
>> **_teenidle_ **  
> _< 3 my flawless king_  
>  _are he and kurt still together?? they haven’t been papped in a while and i haven’t seen any twitter/instagram interactions lately :(_  
> 
>>
>>> **_futuremrsfabray_ **   
>  _idk, jbi said they were on edge at the oscars after party and they def didn’t leave together. there were pics of kurt at his hotel alone and sebastian hanging out with hunter clarington :(_   
>  _i hope not though because they are/were adorable! kurt is the reason i like sebastian tbh_   
>  _**amyb** _   
>  _Sebastian’s filming in Washington and Kurt just got cast in a play, they’re probably just busy._   
> 
>>>
>>>>   
>  _**teenidle** _   
>  _i hope you’re right lol *emotionally invested*_   
>  _i saw the pictures with hunter and i feared the worst!_   
> 

The article is harmless, as are the comments, but of course, _of course_ , that little niggling part of his brain that’s been reminding him of the jealousy he felt toward Hunter at the party can’t help but focus on the comment about the pictures. Another quick Google search leads him to a site full of pictures of Sebastian and Hunter standing outside together, smiling and laughing with each other in a crowd of other people who seem to be leaving, and he doesn’t want to think it, but he does. Santana would have mentioned Sebastian trying to move on by sleeping with Hunter, wouldn’t she have? Her brutally honest nature would have pretty much guaranteed at least an offhanded mention of it, right? But there was nothing but talk about how Sebastian was hurt and they could work it out.

So even though it’s probably not even a possibility, Kurt closes his laptop thinking the worst.

He knows more than anything that he wants to work this out. His feelings for Sebastian stopped being fake a while ago, and being able to actually be with him without their publicists’ agenda orchestrating the whole thing would be the best feeling, but—and it’s with a heavy heart that he finally admits this to himself—Sebastian deserves better. He deserves someone who’s not going to second-guess everything about their relationship, who’s too insecure to keep him around without occasionally shoving him away. He deserves someone like Hunter, who he’d been smiling so easily at in the pictures, who’s confident and secure and more adapted to the famous life than Kurt is.

He considers Quinn and Santana’s pleas. _Don’t fuck with him_ , Santana’s voice says in his ear, but is it really fucking with Sebastian if Kurt’s letting him go to be with someone who _gets_ him more than he ever could?


	14. Chapter 14

Life goes on. If there’s anything Kurt has learned in his twenty-four years, it’s this. He’s done enough moping for the past month and a half to last a lifetime, so he does what Kurt Hummel does best, and he picks himself up from the ruins and starts again. No mourning period this time, no daft, lingering hope that Sebastian will come back and sweep him off his feet. It’s over, it’s a done deal, and all Kurt can do now is move on.

It’s easy to distract himself with the new play. The Longest, Jesse’s titled it, is fun and hilarious and Kurt absolutely loves playing Harry, the love interest to Mercedes Jones’ spirited Angela. Mercedes herself is enough to keep Kurt’s mind busy. In Rachel and Jesse’s absence, she’s become sort of his surrogate best friend: a movie night buddy and a coffee date and occasionally, when it all gets too much, a shoulder to get drunk and whine on, because he refuses to let himself cry.

And it’s hard. He’ll admit that easily. There are days when Kurt wakes up for rehearsal and has to force himself out of bed by reminding himself that if he doesn’t show up, he’s easily replaceable, even if he is one of the playwright’s best friends. And so he gets up, slaps on a bright smile to cover the frown, and goes through his day like he normally would, even if his world feels off-kilter and grey where it used to be vibrant.

He’s having one of those days again, even as he sits in the terminal at JFK with Mercedes, waiting for Rachel and Jesse’s flight to come in. He knows all eyes are on them because, hello, Grammy-winning R&B legend in the making sitting right next to him, and all he can do is stare at his shoes and nod along as Mercedes talks about rehearsal to get his mind off of things.

“All I’m saying is that Kyle needs to work on his grapevine because I damn near tripped over those monster feet yesterday, and I am _not_ here for that,” she says, all in jest because she and the rest of the cast actually adore each other. “And when that plane touches down, I’ve really got to talk some sense into St. James about his costume decisions, because I can rock a four-inch pump in concert, but ain’t _no_ way in hell that’s working out eight shows a week.”

It startles a laugh out of Kurt, and he turns an appreciative smile to Mercedes as she nudges his side.

“He _does_ smile!”

“Sorry!” Kurt chuckles. “I’m alive again, I swear!”

From then, they talk and laugh together until the flight comes in, and Rachel dramatically runs across the terminal as fast as she can until she leaps into Kurt’s arms. The Italy sun has kissed her skin nicely, though the same can’t be said for the sunburn across Jesse’s nose, but it’s wonderful to see them again. Mercedes and Kurt help with the bags, and Mercedes makes sure to scold Jesse about choreography in Louboutins before he backs down and agrees to switch to more sensible dance shoes. They hail a minivan cab because there is so much luggage that Rachel and Jesse cannot feasibly fit in a regular-sized one without suffocating, and though Rachel tries in vain to start with the honeymoon stories, jet lag quickly starts to get the best of her before they’re even finished loading up the bags. She’s in the middle of a description of their first hotel in Rome when she trails off mid-sentence to yawn and completely forgets what she was talking about.

“And _that_ would be our cue to go,” Jesse says, palm resting on the small of Rachel’s back to usher her into the cab, but she glares at him and lets out a whine.

“But I have stories to tell!”

“And trust us, we want to hear them,” Kurt assures her, “but if you’re falling asleep _telling_ them, I am going to fall asleep _listening_ to them.”

Rachel frowns again, but this time Kurt puts both hands on her shoulders and she gives him a sleepy half-smile.

 “It’s Friday, we’ll meet at Callbacks like old times at five, and you can tell all about your time in Italy while Mercedes and I get drunk and pretend we’re listening.”

This seems reasonable enough, and once the cab sets off with the sleepy newlyweds aboard, Mercedes nudges Kurt’s side.

“Is there a reason that I’m invited to hear honeymoon stories when I don’t even know the girl?”

Kurt smiles and links his arm through hers as he raises the other to hail another taxi. “They’re my best friends and all, but I still need someone to make judgmental faces with whenever they go too far with their stories.”

“Mm, fine,” Mercedes hums. “But you are taking me shopping to make up for this.”

Kurt loves her even more for the distraction.

  


* * *

  


If they’re fifteen minutes late to Callbacks that night, it’s because an impromptu fashion show in the dressing room at Barney’s was necessary to get Kurt out of his funk. It doesn’t matter much anyway, because by the time Kurt and Mercedes walk in, Rachel and Jesse have already secured the table they’d always sat in years back when they still frequented this place.

The bar still looks the same as it did when Kurt was a wide-eyed NYADA student, though he feels so far removed from that kid sometimes that it baffles him. He’s having a hard time debating what eighteen-year-old Kurt Hummel would think of him now: surely he’d be proud of the whole renowned Broadway star thing, but he can almost hear the tirade about selling out that the younger and less jaded version of himself would go on when he heard about the deal with Sebastian.

And just as quickly as the shopping trip with Mercedes had cleared Kurt’s mind of Sebastian, he’s back to thinking about him. Luckily there’s a vodka cranberry waiting for him at the table when he sits down, and Rachel almost immediately starts talking his ear off about Pompeii and the Colosseum and gelato and everything else she can think of.

“His name was Lucio,” Jesse interrupts in the middle of Rachel’s spiel about gondola rides in Venice. When Rachel raises a dangerous eyebrow in his direction, he clarifies, “The gondolier, his name was Lucio, not Aldo.”

“It was Aldo!” Rachel protests.

“It was Lucio. Aldo was the brand of shoes you almost dropped in the water.”

Rachel blushes. “…Ah. Right. Welp, who’s singing tonight?”

There’s a chorus of _not me, god no, not after last time with the tequila shots and the Kinky Boots sing-along_ around the table, yet she somehow wheedles Mercedes into a song and Kurt is pretty sure the entire bar pulls out their phones to record the moment they see Mercedes step onstage. They bust out a pretty rousing version of Take Me or Leave Me from RENT, and even Kurt and Jesse can’t fight the urge to drag each other in front of the stage and dance lewdly with each other to make the girls laugh. Kurt hardly even compares Jesse’s moves to Sebastian’s, which is a step, seeing as he’s barely even buzzed. Rachel practically bounces off of the stage when the song wraps up, landing in Jesse’s arms and giggling in his ear something that neither Kurt nor Mercedes ever want to hear ever again.

“I don’t know what’s gonna get more YouTube hits once those phone videos hit the internet: the song itself or you and Jesse getting all kinds of nasty with each other,” Mercedes snorts. “Now that’ll make your boy jealous.”

And, as if the universe was planning some great cosmic joke on Kurt, it is at that moment, right after the first direct mention of Sebastian all day, that the next person takes the stage: a NYADA freshman who slinks up to the microphone and smoothly announces that he’ll be singing a Blaine Anderson hit. Rachel glances in Kurt’s direction, as if she can tell that his heart has dropped into his stomach.

Of course, Blaine’s had other hits. His music’s been all over the radio for a couple of years now, and this guy could be singing anything, really, but then the unmistakable clapping starts up, and the boy steps up to sing:

_“So this is what you meant when you said that you were spent, and now it’s time to build from the bottom of the pit right to the top.”_

And suddenly it all comes rushing back.

Sebastian’s bouncing on the pull-out bed in his living room, arms extended in Kurt’s direction, belting this very song in jest. They’re kissing in the middle of the ice rink, they’re dancing at the wedding, they’re having incredible sex in the hotel room at The Plaza and waking up together, and they’re holding hands in front of hundreds of cameras at the Oscars. And then, as the song draws to a close and the bar starts to clap for the kid, they’re at the after party, held tightly together in the chilly Los Angeles air. There’s a feather light kiss pressed to Kurt’s forehead, and then Sebastian’s gone.

The feeling in Kurt’s stomach is almost pure dread, but there’s something underneath that’s maybe not so grim, but certainly isn’t entirely comfortable either. It’s almost… _hope_. Daft, stupid, improbable hope.

Rachel nudges Kurt back into the land of the living and frowns, eyes wide. “You okay? God, you two just really need to talk this whole mess over.”

Kurt snorts softly to himself. “You sound like Quinn and Santana when they were here.”

All three sets of eyes at the table focus even more intently on Kurt than they had been before.

“Quinn and Santana? As in Fabray and Lopez?” Rachel asks. When Kurt nods, she continues, “When were they here?”

“Like two weeks ago.”

And it hits him. Two weeks.

 _FYI, he’s got a break from filming two weeks from today,_ and, _I get homesick easily_ flash through his mind, and he’s out of his seat before he even realizes it.

“You look like you just had a well-time epiphany,” Jesse notes. “Very cinematic, I approve.”

Mercedes doesn’t know the full details of the Sebastian issue—something that will probably be rectified by Jesse and Rachel the minute Kurt leaves—but she still eyes the way Kurt’s suddenly sprung up suspiciously. “And where are you headed off to?”

Kurt just takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, calming himself. “He gets homesick,” is all he can say before he rushes out a goodbye and heads outside.

He doesn’t miss Rachel shouting after him, _“Kurt Hummel, that is the most romantic comedy-worthy line I’ve ever heard!”_

  


* * *

  


It’s like eighteen-year-old Kurt really has managed to find a way into twenty-four-year-old Kurt’s head, because suddenly, all he can think about is what an absolute idiot he’s being.

Sebastian and Hunter could be soulmates. They could have met at that party and realized it was true love at first sight, and they could have rode off into the sunset on a metaphorical white horse to start their magical life together.

Or they didn’t.

And it’s ridiculous, it’s absolutely _ridiculous_ that Kurt has been sacrificing his own happiness for a _what if_ that may not even be true.

Sebastian could be happy with Hunter, but he could also be happy with Kurt, and God knows Kurt would be happy with Sebastian, even if they’re not on the best of terms right now.

He rushes through the lobby and into the elevator, though he’s not entirely sure why he’s gone home. He could have quietly stirred in his thoughts back at Callbacks, but something in him needs to be back home to process the realization he’s come to and come up with a plan of action.

The elevator stops at Kurt’s floor, and as he’s reaching into his coat pocket to grab his key, he notices something—along with some _one_ —outside of his door. There’s a duffel bag, along with a smaller leather satchel, and sat behind them is someone dressed in jeans and a green sweatshirt, hood up over their bowed head so no face is visible. Kurt’s got his key between his fingers, poised to attack and fist tightening even further as the person shifts and moves when his footsteps draw nearer. He’s just about ready to pounce when the person stands up and brushes the hood back, out of their face, and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat.

Sebastian.

Neither of them speaks. The tension in the hallway is so thick that Kurt feels like he’s suffocating, staring straight into the eyes of the one person he did not expect to see here tonight.

Sebastian looks absolutely _exhausted_. Dark grey circles puff out from beneath bloodshot, half-open eyes, glasses drooping low on his nose, his hair is the kind of mess that can only come from restless tossing and turning, and his entire body is slumped more than usual. He’s a completely different person without the usual cocky tilt to his shoulders and the confident way he holds himself—the Sebastian in front of Kurt right now is broken and miserable and _lonely_.

There are a million things for them to say, good or bad, but Kurt can’t bring himself to speak. He silently inches forward, breath hitching when Sebastian does the same, and then they’re both rushing into each other’s arms, hugging tightly as if afraid the other isn’t real. Kurt buries his face in the crook of Sebastian’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of clean skin and fabric softener, and Sebastian keeps his head up, arms looped firmly around Kurt’s waist, his own breath coming in choked, uneven spurts.

They hold each other for what feels like forever, until Kurt’s committed the sight, the smell, the feel of the moment to memory, then they slowly pull apart.

“I don’t have coffees to bribe you into letting me in this time,” Sebastian manages to say, voice rough and throaty. It startles a wrecked laugh from Kurt’s lips as he remembers the first time they really fought, and Sebastian showing up straight from the airport to make amends. Judging by the duffel bag, it seems the same has happened again.

Kurt remembers the key in his hand and reaches to unlock the door with unsteady fingers, pushing it with his hip and saying, “You can come in, you look like you’ve been here a while.”

Sebastian shrugs as he picks up his satchel and drags the other bag behind him. “One, two hours? I fell asleep, I don’t know.”

They shuffle inside silently, careful to keep a small bit of distance between their bodies despite how close they’d been before. Kurt blames the shock and the fact that he’s missed him so much for the burst of affection—he knows that they have a lot of talking to do before anything else like that happens again.

Sebastian pauses near the door, holding his bags out like a question, and Kurt silently answers with a nod, hearing the soft _thunk_ of them hitting the floor of the entryway as he walks back toward the kitchen.

“Do you want hot cocoa? You must be cold, it’s always freezing in the hall,” he calls over his shoulder, desperate to prolong the inevitable.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, I guess it kinda was,” comes Sebastian’s reply.

Kurt tries to steady himself as the milk heats up, sitting on the countertop with his head ducked between his legs, listening to the sound of Sebastian’s worn Toms against the hardwood floor in the living room, sounding like he’s pacing back and forth. It’s at least a bit comforting to know that they’re both nervous, though maybe not for the same reasons.

Logically, the odds are in Kurt’s favor. It’s not like Sebastian would come all the way across the country, go straight to Kurt’s apartment, and wait in the hallway for two hours for him to come home if he was just going to bring bad news with him, right? But there’s still an anxious pit in Kurt’s stomach anyway, a sense of dread over discussing whatever the hell’s happened between them lately. He’s imagined this conversation a thousand times in his head, all different scenarios, but for some reason, he never stopped to think of what would happen if Sebastian just showed up at his doorstep out of the blue, and now Kurt feels unprepared for what’s to come.

He takes his time mixing the cocoa, peeking around the cupboards to watch Sebastian pace the living room, eyes catching on photos in frames on the walls and end tables, the slightest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he passes the collage of ridiculous pictures of Kurt and Rachel from their teen years until now, given to him for his birthday last year. When he smiles, he looks much more like the Sebastian that Kurt’s come to know, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it quickly fades back to a melancholy expression and he continues to shuffle across the floor, eyes on his feet.

Kurt walks back out once Sebastian has finally settled on the couch with his back pressed to the armrest and tucked his legs, now sans shoes, beneath himself. He accepts one steaming mug with a nod and takes a long, grateful sip while his eyes follow Kurt’s movements as he sits on the opposite end of the couch.

There’s a cushion and a half of space between them and it feels like they’re light-years apart.

The room is silent as Sebastian finishes his drink and Kurt stares into his, thinking of a time when they’d shared this couch, pressed shoulder to shoulder and hurling good-natured obscenities at each other over a game of Mario Kart. How easy it would be to reach across and close the gap if he wasn’t so damn scared.

“I don’t understand,” Kurt mumbles into his cup. He dares a look up when he feels the shift of Sebastian’s cushion to see his tired eyes focused intently on his face and he takes a deep breath. “Why are you here?”

Sebastian is quiet for a moment, placing his cup down on the coffee table and inching the slightest bit forward. “Because I made a huge mistake.”

Suddenly, the confidence that Kurt had in the kitchen that Sebastian wasn’t here to hurt him is gone, and he feels himself wither, pushing further away. The hurt from the party washes over him all over again, and he’s stuck there in that moment, watching Sebastian flirt with Hunter as he’s forced to watch on from the balcony.

“You’re realizing this now?” he tries weakly. “Sebastian, it’s been nearly a month.”

Sebastian frowns and withdraws. “I realized it before I even walked away.”

And something about this makes Kurt’s blood boil, because he remembers that moment like it just happened a minute ago. He’d felt worthless and miserable and alone, and Sebastian had no goddamn clue, just went back inside to slap on a smile an play with the stars.

“No,” Kurt whispers, but his voice grows louder and he practically slams his hot cocoa down in frustration, splashing bits of it over the edge of the mug and onto the coffee table. “No. You don’t get to do this, you left me there to go back inside and try to work your way into Hunter Clarington’s pants. You do _not_ get to pretend like you gave a shit about me at that party when you barely even gave me the time of day.”

The fire in his heart dims a little as he watches Sebastian’s face crumple and realizes he’s never seen him cry outside of that movie scene. Sebastian is obviously trying to hold himself together, but Kurt watches the slump and tremble of his shoulders and the way he’s furiously blinking back tears.

“Nothing happened,” Sebastian says quietly, wiping a hand over his face. When it’s silent for a moment, he looks up and continues, “Between Hunter and me. I… I won’t lie to you, I thought about it.”

He must see the way Kurt’s expression closes off, because he stammers and adds, “I thought if I hurt you, it would be easier for you to move on.”

“And how did you expect that to work out?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight, okay? It was a stupid plan. I just didn’t want you to have to deal with me and my shit.”

“And what if I wanted to deal with you and your shit?!” Kurt snaps before he even thinks about what he’s saying. If the stunned expression on Sebastian’s face is anything to go by, he hadn’t thought Kurt would say it either.

“Did you?”

 _Might as well be honest_ , Kurt thinks, throwing all caution to the wind. “Do. Currently. Why do you think I’m sitting here with you right now? The only reason I ever let you walk away was because I thought _you_ wanted to end it.”

Sebastian smiles his first real smile since Kurt found him in the hallway, and when he leans forward, Kurt notices that the space between them is now just half a cushion, enough space so that Sebastian hardly has to reach his arm out to gently place his hand on top of Kurt’s.

“Kurt, I—”

But Kurt cuts him off, not pulling his hand away but not responding to the touch either. “I still don’t know why you’re here.”

Sebastian nods, a _fair enough_. “Oh, she’s about five-foot-five, long black hair, impressive bitch glare, went to NYC to pick up some of my things and came back to Seattle shouting at me to go home and apologize to the ‘adorable little Hummel figurine’ that I fucked it up with.”

Kurt can’t help but bite out a laugh. Apparently Santana’s interventions were part of a coast-to-coast program.

“So I’m sorry for being an asshole and for not knowing how the hell to communicate, and for a myriad of shitty things I’ve done over the last two months.”

This time, Kurt lets his fingers twine with Sebastian’s properly, rubbing the back of his hand with the pad of his thumb, and he smiles. “I’m sorry too. Y’know, Santana’s right, we’re terrible with communication.”

“She is,” Sebastian agrees, “and while we’re on that topic, can I communicate one last thing to you?”

“Sure.” If Kurt’s heart thuds, nobody has to know.

“I also showed up here because I have had a crazy ridiculous crush on this really gorgeous guy ever since he stared at me from the doorway of a taxi and told me I wasn’t an asshole, and I wanted to _finally_ tell him how I feel.”

“I seem to remember this guy telling you that you weren’t _that_ big of an asshole. Still an asshole, just a little one.”

“Semantics,” Sebastian chuckles, but when he looks into Kurt’s eyes, he’s deadly serious. “I don’t do boyfriends. I haven’t since I was sixteen and I discovered gay bars and one night stands, and I’ve never had a problem with that, but with you, I want to try. I can’t guarantee I’ll be any good at it, and hell, I might be the worst fucking boyfriend in the world, but I’d be an idiot if I got you back into my life just to let you go again without a shot.”

Kurt looks at their clasped hands, the way their legs have become tangled between the two of them so they’re practically sitting in each other’s laps, and the way that, where everything was dull and grey this morning, it now seems just a bit brighter. But he also remembers the pain that came with his last relationship, the heartache of letting Adam go, and knowing that sometimes love hurts, even when it has the best of intentions.

But Sebastian’s smile is so bright and clear, unguarded in a way Kurt’s not used to seeing on him, and it looks dazzling on him, more so than any of his coy smirks ever could. What kind of person would he be to get rid of that?

“You know this is gonna be hard, right?” Kurt starts. Sebastian nods in return, squeezing his hand. “And sometimes it’ll hurt, sometimes we’ll hate each other, and sometimes you’ll want to run out of that door and back to the clubs to find someone less complicated than me.”

“I know,” Sebastian replies. “And I wouldn’t run. Shit, there hasn’t been anyone but you since that first fight.”

Kurt tightens his hold on Sebastian’s hand, unable to fight his smile. “Well, looks like I’ve got to call Isabelle and have her cancel the breakup press release, don’t I?”

He expects a laugh in return, but he looks up to see Sebastian anxiously biting his lip.

“Oh god. What did you do now?”

“It’s not bad, asshole!” Sebastian laughs. “I just kind of never confirmed anything with Emma so I could have more time to figure out how the hell to tell you how I feel.”

Kurt considers. “So the press never mentioned any ‘breakup’?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Nope.”

“And as far as they know, we’re still a couple of lovebirds?”

“I prefer the term extremely-in-like-birds,” Sebastian corrects. “Though I wouldn’t know, since _someone_ has yet to tell me how he feels in return.”

“Just can’t get past the damn communication block, can I?” Kurt grins. He grabs Sebastian’s other hand so they’re both held between their bodies, kisses each fist before squeezing them and letting them fall into their laps. “Sebastian Smythe, you cosmic idiot, I like you a whole hell of a lot and I’d be honored to be an extremely-in-like-bird with you.”

He doesn’t have time to say anything more before there’s a soft pair of lips against his and he’s melting into the kiss, breaking his hands apart from Sebastian’s to tangle in his messy hair. It’s familiar and brand new at the same time—the curves of Sebastian’s mouth are the same, but it feels completely different knowing they’re doing this just because they _can_. Not a paparazzi in sight, no rush to undress, no publicists pushing them together like the first real kisses on Valentine’s Day, this is Kurt and Sebastian kissing because they like each other and they want to be together.

When the kiss breaks and their foreheads stay tipped together, Kurt can’t help but notice the dark circles under Sebastian’s eyes that are still there, and remember how exhausted he’d looked in the hallway.

“You must be so sleepy,” he whispers, pressing a kiss beneath each eye.

“Hm?” Sebastian mumbles. “Kinda, yeah. I could go h—”

Kurt stops him with a peck to the lips. “Stay.”

It’s been the word he’s wanted to say since the Oscars, and finally whispering it against Sebastian’s lips feels fantastic, so fantastic that he just has to kiss him again, drawing him closer by pulling his arms around his neck and sucking Sebastian’s lower lip between his teeth, massaging it so he hums happily beneath him.

“Stay,” Kurt repeats, and Sebastian nods, whispering into the next kiss, “I’m staying right here.”

It could be minutes or it could be hours that they sit there in each other’s laps, kissing and holding each other and whispering little nothings, but when Sebastian starts yawning whenever they pull back for air, Kurt figures it’s time to go to bed.

“C’mon,” he whispers, trailing a kiss up Sebastian’s cheek. “Bedroom’s down the hall.”

“Mmph,” Sebastian groans, tilting his head to meet Kurt’s lips. “Too tired.”

Kurt laughs and gives him a light slap to the side of the head, “Mind out of the gutter, asshole, I meant to sleep. You had a long flight and a long time waiting in the hallway and we’ve been sitting out here for a long time, there is _no_ way you’re going to be any good in bed right now anyway.”

“I take—” Sebastian yawns, stretching out like a kitten, “—offense.”

“Sure you do,” Kurt chuckles, standing up and pulling Sebastian behind him. “Take offense from the bedroom, though.”

They don’t bother with the duffel bag by the door, Kurt hands Sebastian a pair of sweatpants and a too-big shirt from his own drawer just for the thrill of seeing him in his clothes. He slowly helps Sebastian undress, dropping his jeans to the floor, pulling the hoodie and wrinkled t-shirt from his body and kissing the soft skin of his shoulder before sliding the new shirt over his head and nudging him to lay down under the covers. Kurt changes into his own pajamas quickly, stealing Sebastian’s sweatshirt from the floor and wrapping it around himself as he climbs in next to him.

“Thank you,” Sebastian whispers when the lights go out. Kurt doesn’t know what for exactly, but he accepts it with a chaste kiss all the same, settling in as Sebastian curls his arms around his waist.

It’s maybe ten minutes later, when Kurt’s on the edge of sleep and sure Sebastian’s long since knocked out, when he hears the soft whisper against his neck.

“You are gonna be so easy to fall in love with, Kurt Hummel.”


	15. Chapter 15

When Kurt wakes up in the morning, the first thing he notices is that he’s alone.

It’s chilly in his bedroom, though warmer than it’s been all winter, now that spring is just around the corner, and he burrows further under the covers for comfort more than anything, because the hoodie still tightly wrapped around his body is keeping him plenty warm and satisfied.

He also notices how _vibrant_ everything is. Whereas yesterday Kurt woke up to a dull, grey bedroom, today he sees the glow from the sun through the sheer blue curtains, the blinking bright red of the clock next to the bed that tells him it’s 10:23 in the morning, and the deep, forest green of the sweatshirt he’s so tightly clinging to. Amazing how much can change in just a matter of hours.

It almost crosses his mind to worry. He’s alone in bed after falling asleep wrapped up in Sebastian’s arms, after all, shouldn’t he be freaking out? Shouldn’t he be nervous that last night was a fluke, a final purge of emotion before this thing is _really_ over?

But the panic never comes. Maybe it’s the sweatshirt, or Sebastian’s clothes still sitting in a pile next to the bedside table, or the distinct clattering of pans coming from the kitchen serving as concrete reminders that last night happened and wonderful things are coming, even if his bedmate has disappeared.

Or, y’know, it could be the words whispered against his neck last night, the assurance that, yep, Sebastian Smythe, of all people, is falling in love with him and Kurt’s almost certain he’s heading in the same direction. That after all the mess they’ve put each other through, it seems as if they’re finally on the right track to getting a happy ending.

Kurt’s out of bed before he realizes it, padding across the cold wood floor to the bathroom to wash his face and fix his unruly bedhead before stopping right outside the kitchen, where Sebastian is standing in front of the stove, faintly humming a tune Kurt doesn’t recognize as he flips whatever he’s got in the pan.

He could step further into the room and break Sebastian’s train of thought, but Kurt is content with watching from afar, noticing all the little quirks that make up Sebastian: the way he sways his hips in time with the song on his lips, the easy grace to his movements that can only come from a man who used to spend his days singing and dancing for a living, the little smile on his lips when he opens the refrigerator to grab the bottle of orange juice and pauses to look at the picture magnets of Kurt and his family stuck to the door. Kurt could watch him for hours like this, calm but energetic, all of last night’s stress melted away, but when Sebastian steps back over to the stove, singing a bit louder so Kurt can pick up a bit of French as he flips the last pancake and turns the burner off, he can’t help but slide up behind Sebastian to wrap his arms around his waist. Sebastian startles, but when he looks down, glasses drooping down his nose, to see the arms circling him, reaches to put his hands on top of Kurt’s and settles into the embrace.

“Pancakes?” Kurt hums, hooking his chin over Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Mhm. I don’t know my way around your kitchen so I had to go on a cupboard excavation mission to find ingredients. Truly exhausting,” Sebastian chuckles. He turns his head to let his lips gently touch the top of Kurt’s cheekbone. “ _Someone_ wasn’t supposed to wake up right before I finished. You’re ruining my romantic breakfast in bed idea.”

“Sebastian Smythe? Romantic? You do know that April Fool’s Day isn’t for two weeks, right?”

Sebastian makes a noise of dissent and swats at Kurt’s hands on his waist with the spatula, turning around in his arms so they’re standing face to face. “Remind me who took you ice skating for Valentine’s Day?”

“We fell on our asses in the middle of the ice rink.”

“It’s the thought that counts, dick.”

“Ooh, ‘dick.’ Very romantic pet name.”

“I’ll have you know, dicks can be _very_ —”

Unwilling to hear the end of the sentence because, really, he knows what’s coming, Kurt leans up, pushing on his toes slightly to capture Sebastian’s lips in a soft kiss. There’s a moment when Sebastian freezes under the touch, but it passes quickly after Kurt hears the clattering of the spatula hitting the counter and feels a hand slide into his hair, fingernails scratching gently at his scalp. Kurt pulls back slightly to push Sebastian’s glasses back so they rest atop his head before he lowers his mouth, lips tracing down the column of his neck. Kurt’s hands slowly start inching up beneath the too-short shirt of his that Sebastian has on when Sebastian pulls back, glaring lightly.

“I _slaved_ over a package of pancake mix and a bottle of orange juice,” he says with a fake pout. “Food first, makeout time later.”

“Who said we were _just_ making out?” Kurt whines before snorting in amusement when he realizes he and Sebastian seem to have switched roles here.

He’s about to comment on it when Sebastian reaches forward to cup his jawline in one hand, eyes wide and honest.

“I want to,” Sebastian says quietly. “But last time we did something like that, I wasn’t exactly tactful afterwards. This time I want to prove that, y’know, I like you a lot and I’m not using you and I won’t make you feel like shit.”

The look on his face is unlike any expression Kurt’s seen him with so far: nervous and hopeful and terrified all at once. Kurt reaches a hand up as well, tracing Sebastian’s cheekbone, and if they look ridiculous in their position, it’s not like anyone’s around to see.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Kurt says. Sebastian bites down on his lower lip, ducking his chin a bit to avoid eye contact, but Kurt pushes his chin up so their eyes meet. “Hey. Let’s just put all those shitty things we did in the past, okay? We can start fresh. I trust you, Sebastian, you have nothing to prove to me.”

Sebastian is quiet for a moment, breathing slowly as he processes the statement before he drops his hand and brings it down to squeeze at Kurt’s free one.

Kurt grins. “Now pancakes. We went to bed without dinner last night and I’m starving.”

They eat sitting on the counter side by side, bumping their legs together while trading stories they’d never thought to tell each other before. Sebastian lights up when he mentions his brother got engaged two weeks ago, even more when he asks Kurt questions about the pictures on the wall and the fridge and hears the stories behind them. Kurt’s sitting with his legs draped across Sebastian’s lap, pointing out a photo on the freezer door of him holding a six-month-old Kylie at the pumpkin patch for her first Halloween, when their lips finally meet again.

“Oops, did I do that?” Sebastian grins, pulling back from the soft peck that’s momentarily stunned Kurt into silence. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak again, but closes it when Kurt leans forward, instead meeting his lips in the middle.

It’s like the first breath of spring air after a harsh winter, the feeling in your stomach once you pass the first loop on a rollercoaster, like being homesick for so long and finally, _finally_ coming home.

Kurt barely registers Sebastian’s hands beneath his shirt, too caught up in the blissful thoughts running through his mind, until it’s being pulled over his head, hoodie already shucked and tossed to the floor. Sebastian moves slowly, kissing from Kurt’s mouth to his ear and down to his shoulders, long fingers dancing across his bare spine as he nips at the smooth skin, smiling against it when Kurt starts humming out little pleasured sighs.

“Mmph, ‘Bastian,” Kurt mumbles as Sebastian kisses along his collarbone. Sebastian lifts his head, eyes bright and attentive. “We’re not having sex in my kitchen.”

“Aw, damn,” Sebastian laughs. He drags a finger through the leftover maple syrup on his plate and paints a stripe of it across Kurt’s lower lip before kissing it off.

“Sebas _tian_.”

“I heard ya, I heard ya,” Sebastian says, picking Kurt’s legs up off of his lap so he can slide off the counter to stand up. “C’mere.”

This time, the walk to the bedroom is completely different. Whereas a month ago, they’d frantically made their way to the bed, rushing to get undressed and get off, now they take it slow, taking their time peeling off every last bit of clothing, marking the skin beneath. Kurt can see it in Sebastian’s eyes: the genuine affection, so different than the lust from before. It makes everything feel ten times better—instead of just getting off on a quick fuck, this feels dangerously like making love, the way Sebastian handles his body like he’s something precious, takes his time prepping and stretching him, whispering soft encouragements against his skin.

When Sebastian finally pushes into him, gradually inching in before bottoming out and letting Kurt adjust before thrusting in earnest, slowly and then faster and faster as Kurt’s moans come louder and more quickly, it’s like ecstasy. Kurt’s sure he’s never felt so good in his life, not with any other boyfriend he’s had (and wow, _boyfriend_ , Sebastian is his _boyfriend_ , isn’t that a rush). He could put it down to experience—after all, Sebastian’s fucked with the best of them and he’s got the talent to prove it—but Kurt’s pretty sure the feeling rising through his body, warming him from his toes to his fingernails, is the feeling of finally getting it right.

Sebastian is the first to come, after one last thrust, and a litany of gibberish that sounds a hell of a lot like Kurt’s name comes flooding from his lips. Kurt follows not long after, panting against Sebastian’s neck as he comes down.

They lay in silence until their breathing evens out and Kurt becomes acutely aware of the come drying between their stomachs and reaches blindly for anything to clean it up with because he’s far too sated and sleepy to get out of bed. He regrets the choice a little bit when all he comes up with is his discarded t-shirt, but he’d much rather stay in Sebastian’s arms and have to do laundry later than get up and miss the sleepy smile on his face.

“What?” Kurt asks, nudging Sebastian’s knees with his own.

Sebastian just shakes his head and Kurt frowns, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Don’t say that would have been better in the kitchen, because it’s a lot easier to explain come-stained sheets than it is to explain why there’s semen in the fruit bowl.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that!” Sebastian laughs. “It was perfect. _You’re_ perfect.”

 _“Oh.”_ Kurt can feel the blush creeping down his neck, and he buries his face into Sebastian’s shoulder, snuggling further when he feels strong arms wrap around his back. “Y’know, you’re not so bad at this boyfriend thing.”

“I’d better not be,” Sebastian chuckles. “I am trying ridiculously hard.”

“Liar.” Kurt lifts his head to press a chaste kiss to the column of his throat. “Now sleep.”

And they fall asleep once more, curled peacefully against each other.

 

* * *

 

Kurt wakes before Sebastian, not long after falling asleep but late enough that the morning sunshine has given away to afternoon rainclouds and a light drizzle.  He has half a mind to wake Sebastian, who’s tangled in the sheets like a cocoon, but he looks far too comfortable, so Kurt just slips out of bed, grabbing the duvet from the end of the bed and wrapping it around himself so he can push the curtains back from the window seat to sit and watch the people in the street with their umbrellas and rain-soaked coats. From high up in the building, they all just look like blobs of color skittering about, smaller than the raindrops spattered against the window. He watches a couple enter the café right below him, remembers the first real “date”—that is, the typical “pick me up, walk me home” kind of date—and the first time he’d really begun to see Sebastian as a real human being inside of that coffee shop.

When Sebastian wakes about fifteen minutes later, stretching his shoulders and blinking wearily in the dim light from the window as he reaches for his glasses on the bedside table, Kurt immediately turns to him.

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

Sebastian mumbles sleepily before grabbing his sheet cocoon and joining Kurt by the window. “What?”

“Not today, but like… Later. When you’re done filming. We can plan it out and make sure there are no paparazzi and—”

Sebastian isn’t looking at him, but Kurt can see the grin he’s aiming at his lap.

“What?”

“Today’s your day to ruin all my plans, isn’t it?”

Kurt grins. “You were gonna ask me on a date.”

“Well, yeah, but you stole my thunder.”

“Mm. Too bad, I win,” Kurt laughs, leaning forward slightly to kiss the exaggerated pout from Sebastian’s face. “When do you have to go back?”

He doesn’t realize until he says it how much he actually dreads the answer, what with his track record of sending boyfriends off to Washington.

“Tomorrow night,” Sebastian says, lips quirking down in a half-frown like he doesn’t actually want to leave. “Filming finishes in a month, how ‘bout we plan something ridiculous and extravagant after that?”

Kurt nods, though the first part of the answer weighs heavy on his shoulders. Sebastian must notice the change in his demeanor, because he frowns and reaches to grab Kurt’s hand.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Kurt mumbles. “It’s stupid.”

“You can tell me if there’s something wrong, babe.”

Kurt glances out of the window again, shaking his head at his stupidity for feeling so downtrodden about his boyfriend leaving for a month with every reason to come back home afterward when it’s nothing like officially breaking up in an airport terminal and never seeing Adam again.

“I promise it’s stupid,” he says, lips quirking into a small smile before he launches into the whole story of his and Adam’s ill-fated love affair. As he tells it, Sebastian scoots forward, legs slotting with Kurt’s and hands coming up to cup both of his cheeks.

“You want me to find this guy and punch him in the face?” When Kurt shakes his head with a laugh, Sebastian grins. “I promise you’ll see me again and again and again for a very long time. Do you think I’m letting you go that easily? Do you think I flew all the way out here just to let you go again?”

Kurt turns his head to press a kiss to his palm. “I thought you came home because you were homesick,” he teases.

“I did, but I didn’t just want to be home, Kurt, I wanted to be with _you_.”

A memory flashes through Kurt’s mind again, of _I feel more at home when I’m with someone I love_ , and the words whispered as he fell asleep last night, and he’s falling so goddamn hard that he’s sure there’s no way to stop, and he wouldn’t want to even if he could.

And on Sunday night when they say goodbye in the terminal, Kurt doesn’t worry about Sebastian not coming back to him. It’s a given: they’re too far gone to quit now.

When the plane takes off, Kurt smiles his way out of the terminal, completely unbothered by the flash of a paparazzo and his camera in his peripherals.

 _Let them take a picture_ , he thinks as he climbs into a cab. _We’ve got nothing to hide._

 

* * *

 

 **_Kurt Hummel_ ** _@hummelkurt_  
 _Every time @ sebastiansmythe uses my phone he returns it full of selfies. Why do I put up with this loser? http://instagram.com/p/Z-DfG3gNV1/_  
  
 _7:45 PM – 17 Mar 19_

 **_Sebastian Smythe_ ** _@sebastiansmythe_  
 _@ hummelkurt I’m the loser? I do it so you don’t forget my beautiful face (jkjkjk I already miss you dummy)_  
 _7:51 PM – 17 Mar 19_

 **_Kurt Hummel_ ** _@hummelkurt_  
 _@ sebastiansmythe You are so lucky you’re cute. (Also: <333)_  
 _7:53 PM – 17 Mar 19_

 **_jesse st. james_ ** _@jstj_  
 _@ hummelkurt @sebastiansmythe get a room nerds_  
 _8:02 PM – 17 Mar 19_

 **_Rachel Berry_ ** _@rachberry_  
 _@ hummelkurt @sebastiansmythe @jstj what jesse means is :D!!!!!!!!_  
 _8:06 PM – 17 Mar 19_

 

* * *

 

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_twitter post??? explain??? omg???_

**_To: Rachel Berry_ **  
_:)_

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_??????!!!!!!!_

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_DO I GET TO SAY IT_

**_To: Rachel Berry_ **  
_Be my guest._

**_From: Rachel Berry_ **  
_I TOLD YOU SO!!!!!!!!!!! :D :D :D_


	16. Epilogue

February 21, 2021

It’s probably a testament to how strange this night is turning out that the _least_ weird moment that’s happened in the last five minutes is Jennifer Lawrence leaning over the poor seat filler between them to squeeze Kurt’s hand and halfheartedly assure him, “At least he didn’t trip up the stairs!” He gives her a weak smile in return and continues to gnaw on his lower lip like he’s trying to tear a hole in it, the only outlet that he can channel all of the pent-up energy inside of him into when he knows half of the eyes in the theater are still staring at him, which would be a lot more comfortable if he actually _knew_ any of these people. With Sebastian and Santana shipped off to the press room, Kurt’s only lifeline is Santana’s mother three seats down, and while Maribel is a lovely woman, he only met her two hours ago and he’s not quite ready to go into full-blown freak out mode in front of her.

Blessedly, the show cuts to a break for commercials and Kurt gets a moment to breathe again while everyone else in the room directs their attention to things that aren’t him for the first time in five minutes. His hands are trembling where they lay on his armrests, uncomfortably clammy and gripping for dear life, sweat beading at his hairline, heart pounding dangerously against his ribcage.

And damn it, he’s never been so fucking happy in his life.

After minutes of debating a plan of action, a man with a clipboard and a headset walks onto the stage and announces that they’ll be coming back from commercial in thirty seconds so for everyone to please sit back down, but there’s no way Kurt can handle the final minutes of the show without spontaneously combusting. He waves a woman with a tight ponytail and black dress over to fetch a seat filler to take his place and bids Maribel a sweet goodbye, ignoring the soppy, doe-eyed looks both women are giving him, and hightails it into one of the hallways surrounding the theater as he digs in the breast pocket of his suit for his phone. His shaky hands make it nearly impossible to type in the right phone number, but after the third try and the second ring, a voice answers.

“Kurt!” Quinn says fondly. “Did not expect you to be calling me, of all people, after what I just saw on TV.”

“I know, I know,” Kurt replies, ducking his head to hide his blush even though he’s alone in the hallway. “Can you do me a gigantic favor though? Are you still at Santana’s?”

“Yes and yes. About to leave for the after party, so you’re lucky you caught me.”

Kurt sighs in relief. “Okay, in the guest room dresser, bottom drawer, there’s a box, you’ll know it when you see it. How fast can you get it to the theater?”

“If we beat limo traffic, ten minutes.” He can almost _hear_ the same doe-eyed expression that Maribel and the seat assigner had in her voice when she pauses and says, “Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

Quinn hangs up without another word, and Kurt keeps the phone against his ear and leans against the wall for a few seconds, biting his lip before finally letting himself break into the ear-to-ear smile he’d been hiding when everyone was staring at him in the theater. He’s grinning as he fields the hordes of text messages and voicemails filling up his phone, promising his father and brother and Rachel that he’ll call them in the morning once everything has calmed down and his heart rate has returned to a normal speed. By the time he’s all done, Quinn is calling again with confirmation that she’s outside with the box and a few extra visitors.

When he gets outside, she’s standing outside of the limo with Sebastian’s family, and she barely has time to pass the box to Kurt before he’s being sandwiched in a hug between Sebastian’s mother and father.

“Sorry, sorry,” Daniel chuckles as he pulls back. “Just got excited, and Quinn offered to swing us by the after party, so we took the bait. Tonight’s a bit of a whirlwind, isn’t it?”

And it is, in the best possible way. Kurt nods, unable to speak because his heart has climbed its way into his throat and threatened to burst with sheer elation, so he lets his mind wander while Quinn and the Smythes chatter excitedly in front of him.

It’s Sebastian’s brother’s voice that brings him back into reality, low in the back of his throat and amused.

“Mom, you raised a complete idiot for a son.”

Valerie lets out a soft chuckle at Kurt’s side, but she turns a fake glare on her older son. “Don’t act as if I didn’t raise two of them, Luc.”

“Ooh! Low blow, Ma,” Lucas snickers. “But at least _I_ didn’t say I loved my boyfriend for the first time by accident during an interview with Conan O’Brien, and I _certainly_ have not done what Bas just did. Face it, I am the model child.”

“Your first ‘I love you’ wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of romance either, babe,” Angelo says, grinning when Lucas acts affronted, jaw open and a hand over his chest.

“Lies and slander! I told you I loved you over a candlelit dinner by the beach in Oahu!”

Angelo tuts, tapping his finger against the end of Lucas’s nose in the most adorable way possible. “It was actually a week before that, while we were having sex in my college dorm that one night when—”

“ _Okay_ , story time’s over!” Valerie interrupts, elbowing Lucas so he crashes into his husband’s side and effectively cuts him off. “Kurt, honey, are you okay?”

Her hand reaching out to squeeze his helps to ground him in reality, remind him that he’s not, in fact, having an out of body experience and watching this conversation from somewhere else.

“Yeah,” Kurt answers in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, spreading his fingers so Valerie can thread hers through his for support. It still kind of amazes him how quickly the Smythes took to him after their first meeting: a Sunday in mid-June nearly two years ago when Lucas had business to do in the city and decided it was time for the family to ambush Sebastian’s new boyfriend. Kurt had been nervous as hell, but the minute they appeared outside of Sebastian’s penthouse that day and Lucas immediately tackled him in a hug, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

“You sure? You look a little spooked, my love.”

“No, really, I’m actually wonderful,” Kurt says, feeling the warmth of confidence rising in his chest again, barely able to hold back the grin on his face. “Y’know, it’s just not every day that your boyfriend spoils his own proposal during his Oscar acceptance speech.”

The word feels foreign in his throat, but he revels in the feeling of saying it. _Proposal_. Sebastian wants to marry him, apparently so much that his subconscious has already started referring to him as his husband.

_“And of course, I have to thank my amazing husband—I mean. Wow. That was supposed to come later— Kurt!”_

Kurt leans back against the cool plaster of the wall behind him, giving polite smiles to a group of actors passing by on their way out to their limos for the after party before he surreptitiously pulls out his phone again to pass the time until Sebastian is out of interviews and ready to be ambushed with about a thousand hugs and kisses.

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Oh hey, sexiest Oscar winner of all time._

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Jamie Foxx though…_

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Oh damn, you’re right, I think he just passed by. brb, gonna leave you for him xoxox_

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_Oh fuck off._

**_From: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_I love you so fucking much, by the way._

**_To: Sebastian Smythe_ **  
_I love you too. Congratulations for the millionth time, you deserve it, baby. <3_

The quick replies mean he’s probably out of interviews for now, and the thought that he’s one step closer to throwing his arms around his boyfriend (fiancé?) sends a little thrill racing up Kurt’s spine. The moment the theater doors open and people come flooding out, meaning the show must be over, Kurt bids his goodbyes to the Smythes, gives Quinn a thank you kiss on the cheek, and hightails it back inside and backstage.

He only has a very vague idea of where the press room is, so he paces the hallway outside of it, squeezing the box Quinn brought inside of his pocket, occasionally taking it out just to look at it, hastily shoving it back into his pocket whenever someone leaves one of the rooms lining the hall.

He can tell when Sebastian leaves because instead of trailing down the hallway, his footsteps stop right outside of the door. Kurt turns around to see pure love in his boyfriend’s eyes, his body practically radiating with it as he unceremoniously plonks his Oscar down on the ground and opens his arms for Kurt. There’s no possible way he can keep looking at him without hugging the living daylights out of him, so that’s precisely what Kurt does: rushes forward, leaps into Sebastian’s arms, and giggles uncontrollably as he’s spun around in a circle.

“I am so proud of you, Sebastian,” he whispers as they spin, pulling his arms around Sebastian’s neck.

“Also you’re an idiot,” Kurt laughs tearfully. “You are ridiculous and I cannot _believe_ you.”

“I am,” Sebastian confirms with a kiss to the side of Kurt’s head. “Would you believe that I love you so goddamn much it’s beginning to burst out of me at random intervals, including on a stage in front of thousands of people on national television?”

“Mm, I think I got that, actually.” Kurt wriggles out of his arms, his feet softly hitting the ground again while his head is still far up in the clouds. He takes a shaking hand and digs it into his pocket to pull out the little black box Quinn brought over and tosses it lightly so Sebastian catches it in front of him. Sebastian raises a questioning eyebrow, but Kurt nods at him to open it up.

If Kurt could bottle the feeling in his stomach when Sebastian lifts the lid of the box and drops his jaw with a mad blush spreading across his cheeks, so he could always remember how amazing it feels to get his happily ever after, _their_ happily ever after, he would in a heartbeat.

“I’ve had it for three weeks,” Kurt says, as nonchalantly as he possibly can when his heart is beating way too fast and his eyes are quickly filling with tears. “I figured that when you won, your congratulations gift could be a lifetime of being stuck with me.”

Sebastian carefully tilts the box in front of his face, examining the ring inside with wide eyes and shaking hands. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it when he pulls Kurt in by the waist and pushes their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better,” Sebastian answers with a wet laugh. “So is this a yes?”

 “I do believe you haven’t yet asked me a question, just sort of implied things,” Kurt teases. “What _ever_ could you be talking about?”

“You’re really making me do this, aren’t you?” Sebastian laughs. “Right here?”

Kurt nods. “You could do this in the Hooters down the road and I’d only be mildly disappointed.”

“Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.” Sebastian reaches into his suit pocket to pull out yet another tiny box, opening it up to reveal a simple white gold band with a line of diamonds down the middle, a ring Kurt recognizes from a magazine he’d conveniently left open the last time they’d discussed marriage. Sebastian continues, lighthearted voice betraying the emotion in his eyes, “I may have accidentally referred to you as my husband in front of the entire world. Wanna make sure people don’t think I’m a liar?”

“You’re terrible at proposals,” Kurt notes before pulling his own box back and actually dropping to one knee. “Sebastian Isaac Smythe, I love you more than just about anything in the world, and I will certainly marry you if you’ll marry me.”

“Deal,” Sebastian agrees, helping Kurt up so they can slip the rings on each other’s trembling fingers. Once they’re on and they’ve had time to admire them in the dim hallway lighting, Kurt’s back in Sebastian’s arms, kissing every bit of skin on his face: from his forehead, down to his nose and cheeks and  lips and chin, trailing down his neck when the press room door opens again and a loud laugh echoes through the hallway.

“Someone’s having a good night,” Santana chuckles, gripping her own Academy Award. “I take it he said yes?”

“Something like that,” Sebastian grins, subtly flashing the metal on his finger.

“Well, congratu-fucking-lations, it’s about time because you googly-eyed morons are actually kind of adorable, but you didn’t hear it from me,” Santana says with a grin. “Is Quinn at the party already?”

“ _Speaking_ of googly-eyed morons,” Kurt chuckles. “Yeah, she left a little while ago.”

Santana scrunches up her nose at him, but she grins anyway before walking back down the hallway, heels clicking against the dark linoleum before she stops and turns around again.

“Please don’t fuck in this hallway, Meryl Streep is inside of that room and I will not be known as the girl who is best friends with the horny engaged couple that gave Meryl a private porno.”

“She’s ruining my hopes and dreams,” Sebastian chuckles as she disappears. He bends down to pick up his Oscar and Kurt immediately makes grabby hands at it.

“Ooh, it’s pretty,” he says, admiring the engraving: _Academy Award to Sebastian Smythe, Best Performance By an Actor in a Leading Role_.

Sebastian loops an arm around Kurt’s waist and begins the walk out to the limo. Turning his head to smirk at his fiancé (fiancé!), he asks, “What would you have done if I didn’t win?”

Kurt smiles. “Your birthday’s in two days, I would’ve figured something out. You were always going to win, though.”

He feels Sebastian’s eyes on him the entire time they walk out to the limo, even with the flash of paparazzi cameras once they open the doors, and he can’t help but smile at the crowd.

 _You all want a piece of him_ , Kurt thinks, _but I get all of him for the rest of my life._

The limo ride is mostly quiet, just the sound of their soft breathing as they sit pressed against each other despite the too-long seating area, until Sebastian lowers his lips to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “I love you.”

Kurt has heard it hundreds of times since the first time they’d whispered it to each other over the phone from across the country almost two years ago, but this time, it hits even harder. It’s the first time he’s heard it as Sebastian’s fiancé, and that fact makes it hit Kurt’s heart that much harder.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back, brushing his mouth against Sebastian’s jaw. “Do you know how hard it’s gonna be to keep my hands off of you at this party?”

“There are several conveniently placed bathrooms all around the venue,” Sebastian suggests, fingers threaded in the back of Kurt’s hair as he eagerly meets his kisses. “We could always just duck out early.”

Kurt snorts. “Yeah, about that, Quinn kind of invited your family to the after party.”

Sebastian pauses mid-kiss and dramatically drops his head to Kurt’s shoulder. “Oh no, they’re going to embarrass me all night, aren’t they? If Luc’s not making fun of me, Mom’ll be hitting on Colin Firth. Hell, Dad will be too.”

“Most likely.”

“Stick by my side all night?”

Kurt grins and kisses his lips firmly. “Forever.”

  


* * *

  


_9:21 am – 02/24/2021_  
 **_KURT AND SEBASTIAN ARE ENGAGED!!!!!_ **  
_Posted by **teenidle** in **ohnotheydidnt**_

_Rumors were abound after Sebastian Smythe stumbled through his acceptance speech at Sunday’s Academy Awards, accidentally referring to his boyfriend of two years, Kurt Hummel, as his husband, and even more speculation has flooded the internet after the couple arrived at JFK International yesterday sporting suspicious rings. Now Sebastian has taken to Twitter to confirm that he and Kurt are, in fact, engaged. This news comes just two days after Sebastian’s big win at the Academy Awards_ and _on his 27th birthday, talk about good fortune!_

_(((YOU GUYS I’M HAVIN A HEART ATTACK RN HOLY SHIT)))_

_ Comments: _

> **_kyle56_ **  
> _ugh wow there goes my dream of marrying them both but whatever i can live w/ polyamory_  
>  _lol jk! this is so sweet omg they look so happy. seb’s dorky smile is melting my heart :3_
> 
> **_futuremrsquinnfabray_ **  
> _omgomgomgomgomgogm! i’m so excited ahlaklwkekrlwlf’a_  
>  _I HOPE THEY DOUBLE DATE WITH ST. BERRY AND THEIR FUTURE CHILDREN HAVE FIERCE PLAYDATES_
>
>> **_annhog_ **  
> _DON’T TEASE ME WITH THIS OMG_  
>  _imagine st berry’s kids though like what kind of fierceness_
> 
> **_brangelina2928_ **  
> _OMG! Freaking out right now, I’m so happy for them! That is such a cute picture. <3_
> 
> **_annhog_ **  
> _their life is such a romcom lol_  
>  _they hated each other then they liked each other then they loved each other_  
>  _AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER THE END_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...AND THAT'S IT. well. kind of.
> 
> thank you sooo sososo much to everyone who's read this, given feedback, bookmarked it, etc. honestly, it means the world to me to have so many wonderful people read my silly little story (that isn't so little anymore, seeing as it somehow turned into over 50k). you're the absolute best and i love each and every single one of you. <3 
> 
> and this may have been the end to the big story, but i have so many headcanons for this 'verse that i'll definitely be adding little drabbles every so often, so i guess keep your eyes peeled for that. ;)  
> also [here](http://smythed.tumblr.com/post/54086571716/life-in-technicolor-the-playlist-aka-a-bunch-of) is a playlist to go with the fic, just because.
> 
> again, thankyouthankyouthankyouSOMUCH for reading, have a wonderful day/week/month/year/life/etc. <333


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